


Not Just a Dream

by DreamWalker84



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Eventually I'll get to smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fade Shenanigans, Fluff, Moderately Graphic Violence, Modern Girl in Thedas, Original Character Is not the Inquisitor, Plot with sexy times, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:45:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 107,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamWalker84/pseuds/DreamWalker84
Summary: A young woman wakes in a world she knows only from a video game. Her name, her past, and her ultimate reasons for being in Thedas are fast fading from her memory.Now, she needs to play the savior, alongside the famed Inquisitor. It is not only Thedas that needs saving, but the one behind the threats as well; the infamous elvhen god of trickery, Fen'harel.Her knowledge of the story is her biggest motivation, and her desire to save as many lives as she could, her only drive.That is until The Dread Wolf, catches her scent, and she his.How can she succeed when everything is so new, her magic, untrained, her thoughts so unfamiliar, and yet...





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> It has been many years since I have even attempted to write a fan-fiction, and this one has been knocking about my head for some time.  
> Again, thank you for reading, I'll have more chapters posted after final editing is completed.  
> Enjoy!

     I know not when I realized I was breathing. Everything was a haze, dark, blurred, colorless; the reverberation of sound shaking shapes and breaking what little focus I had. Whirlwind of thoughts, memories, directions I was to follow; I could barely remember faces, names, ideas, words in tongues I didn’t remember learning…

  
     I was cold. The snow sticking, stinging, my toes, saturating my clothes. I was walking, limping, following a cart. Yes, there were others, somber, sorrow, sick and cold. We were the lost. Groaning, crying, whimpering, voices trembling echoes off the rocks. I can see them, hunched over, shielding stretched faces with soiled soaked cloaks and blankets, hiding from the storm.

  
     One foot in front of the next. The body next to me stumbles, and I reach, lifting the frozen frail frame to standing, willing my own body heat to give them just a little more strength.

  
     Gray, everything was gray, the snow falling, rushing, tumbling onto us. I willed myself to keep going. It must not be far. We must get to Skyhold.

  
     There was screaming; blood curdling, pain racked screaming. It echoed and deafened. I turned in time to feel the rip of flesh, and a sword plunged into my side, tearing out the side of my shirt. A huge armored figure hollered a battle cry, and swung again.

  
     The light, the energy that exploded from me, it knocks the red crystalline armor away in fire and smoke. The others were screaming. They were just farmers; they had no weapons, no magic. They huddled, dodged, and hid, the cart and the horses taking hits before men, women, and children. I felt it again, the magic, swarming, swelling, shooting straight at the one bringing a red claw down on a mother and child; the beast cried out, and I willed it to be cut down.

  
     The old man in the cart yelled, begged, flailed for his life. The red armor laughed and lunged, but I stopped it. My mind, my thoughts, my _will_ shielded the old man, the sword bounced off, like hail off a shingled roof. An arrow sored, aimed at the grandfather, and I put myself in its way. The arrow went deep, the shaft jutting out of my thigh. I wonder if I will walk, or even continue to stand.

  
     Another searing pain, an arrow lodged in my shoulder, another scream, another pull, push, point and fire, as my foes fell. Red blurred my eyes, I could see only red, their claws, the crystals that grew from their faces, encrusted their armor, and jutted out of their swords and shields. Yes, I remember, these were the tainted Templars, the ones Corypheus will use against the Inquisitor.

     I was here to help.

     The others couldn’t fight, it had to be me.

  
     The storm was loud; it silenced the screams and shouts, and darkened the skies. I do not know how long I stood, pushing the magic out, pushing the red men out. But soon, my eyes were darkened, black and tunneled. The last enemy fell, shouts of an Inquisition scout troop approaching faintly cresting the thundering sound of wind and snow.

  
     My knees hit snow; red splattered and dripped onto the battered mountainside as I coughed, and wrenched the arrow from my shoulder, tossing it aside. They were safe…we were safe.

  
     Then, the world suddenly went black.

  
~*~

      _I always had vivid dreams. Tonight, they are wild, rushing, pulsing, speeding around and through me, as if I had no control over myself at all. Flashes of images I couldn’t identify trying to latch onto my sanity._

  
_There was the heavy scent of coffee in the room, which had created itself from the gray mists of the dreamscape._

  
_A couch, a computer, the screen alight with dancing images and buzzing with electric life._

_I sit at the computer, and in a game, a whole world comes to life. Thedas, a world of magic, swords, kings and gods, battling for a better life._

  
_I spend way too much time on this game. Admittedly, most of that time spent is carefully adjusting my character to look as close as I could to my own face. Only elf, not human. A little bit of fantasy never hurt anyone. I meticulously adjusted each angle as best I could. Knotted ash blonde hair (more silver in the game) fair skinned, sapphire blue eyes, rounded nose, heart-shaped face and jaw, high cheekbones… The elf woman didn’t honestly look too much like me, but perhaps there was a resemblance._

  
_“It is not just a game, child.”_

  
_The older woman’s voice was familiar, yet lost to memory. She laughed as I watched my small room collapse into gray mist, and the sensation that I was feeling the cold wind biting at my very real fingertips, that was slowly edging me to wakefulness._

  
_~*~_

  
     “You were mighty brave, miss.” One of the soldiers said, leading the horse I was clumsily riding up the mountain path. My leg thrummed with heavy jolts of pain with every step, the bandages around my thigh growing ever colder as my blood seeped into the bandage and began to chill in the wind. The snow had slowed to barely a dusting since the battle the previous night, and the clouds seemed to be trying to part.

  
     “Brave?” I ask, adjusting in the saddle, holding onto a little human girl, asleep against my chest. Her head bumped the spot where the arrow had been removed, and I winced, and couldn’t help but grind my teeth as I adjusted her head to the center of my chest.

  
     “Yes’m.” The female soldier said. “Not many people would have lasted. And ‘specially since you a—“ she glanced away, suddenly afraid of the words she was going to say.

  
     “Apostate.” I continue. I knew I wasn’t a circle mage. I couldn’t remember how I knew that, but I did. I was different, and the way that the others looked at me made me consider a few concepts that, up to that point, had escaped my recovering mind. “They are all afraid of me now, aren’t they?” I ask, nodding toward the cart and remaining survivors that I had been traveling with. The soldier nodded with a heavy sigh.

  
     “They’ll come ‘round, miss.” She said. “Once the Inquisitor hears of your bravery, he’ll set them straight.”

  
     I had heard them cringe, calling me “knife ear” and “apostate”, they blamed me and my ‘rebel ways’ for the war, said the demons I flirted with were going to take my soul, and I should be cut down; all after I saved their lives.

  
     But it was the life I chose, and somewhere, some other time, I’ll let their words hurt. For now, I had to get to Skyhold, and hope this Inquisitor would look kindly on another elven apostate.

  
     “Thank you.” I answer. “And thank you for patching me up.” She smiles and we continue the trek.

  
    I tried to recall everything I could about the inner circle of the Inquisition. I sifted and rummaged through hours of game time, sorting out fragments of memories from countless minutes of text. How long had I immersed myself into the fantasy world? How much knowledge from the famous video game could I actually use now?

  
     I was shocked to realize I had only just considered one very important question: How did I get here?

  
     With the battle, the storm, and the pain of injuries I had never sustained in my life prior to this, I had completely forgotten that this was, in fact, a fantasy world that I was living in. These people, the soldiers, the refugees, they had names, had individual faces, smelled of soil, blood, and sweat; they talked, laughed, and felt just as I did. They were real. For all my trying, I could only accept that this was now my reality, my painful, heavy, and undoubtedly dangerous reality.

  
     The child in my lap shifts and moans, and I carefully wrap the blanket a little tighter around her. “Shh, shh. We are almost there.” I hum, and brush her auburn hair down under my chin.

  
     Skyhold was much more vast than I had recalled from the game. How much was different now that it was translated into a real world? In the game, it was a single walled compound, hardly large enough to fit the entire Inquisition army into. Now, it was perhaps four times the size, the mountain it was perched on wide and flat. Part of the castle bridged to a nearby peak, where a separate tower and courtyard was built. Perhaps, this was the Inquisitor’s doing, and it was just not important in the game? Something deep in my mind said that wasn’t the case. I could see the tops of trees, lush with green leaves, topping over the high walls of Skyhold, and the faint echo of soldier’s sparing.

  
     Would the Inquisitor be kind? Funny? Handsome? Is he human, elven, dwarven, or even Qunari? Is he a fighter, a mage, an archer? Would the companions be just as they were in the game?

  
     “…and get the injured to the medics in the far courtyard!” A vaguely familiar voice rang out as we approached the bridge entering Skyhold. A tall man, human, curly, sandy blonde hair, and defined features was there, directing traffic, helping soldiers who were struggling to walk. His armor shone bright in the emerging sun, making him seem almost intimidating. Even from my hazy view from the back of the caravanning refugees, his rugged, unshaven face looked kind, despite his words of command, and those soldiers obeying him without second guessing him. Yes, I knew that face, that voice; Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition forces, former Knight Captain of the Templar Order. I remember him as kind, selfless, and overly cautious. He also tends to distrust mages. This will be difficult.

  
     The female soldier that had been with me up till now runs up the line, I assume to inform him of the situation. I watch, as the horse follows in step with the traffic, and adjust the child still sleeping on my breast. Cullen looks shocked, as if the scout had said something surprising, and looks down the line at me. There is a sudden heat in my cheeks, and I know I am blushing.

  
     It takes some time for me to breach the gates of Skyhold. The sleeping child is removed from me almost as soon as the horse’s hooves cross the threshold, and is whisked away to the medic’s tent. I, however, am ignored, and I follow the line of horses to the stables.

  
     I see another familiar face; Horsemaster Dennet. He is barking at some stable hands, who are busy with the influx of mounts in need of shelter and food. “Let me help you, my lady.” A husky male voice says beside me. I look down, and find a friendly smile, laden with a dark mass of hair and gruff beard. “I am somewhat surprised you were not taken to the mages, what with that nasty wound there.” He reached up, and with little help, I was dismounted.

  
     “Thank you…” I start. Ah, yes, he smells of sawdust and hay bales, his accent a mix of Farelden, Orleasian, and Free Marches, and gray eyes like dry shale. This must be Blackwall, Gray Warden, who has a dark past. I will have to consider his story soon.

  
     “Blackwall, m’lady.” He bows. “Would you like some help getting to the healers?”

  
     “No, I should be alright. I should be helping.” I answer too quickly. My leg is numb, my backside sore and bruised, and the spot where the arrow was extracted still pulsing with exquisite pain. “There are others far worse off than I.”

  
     “A noble thing to say, however you will do little good in your condition.” Blackwall answers, removing the saddle and bit, handing them off to a stable boy, and guiding the horse into an empty stall. “You will do no good if you end up infected, or passing out with those injuries. Your arm is just about useless until it is healed, and you’ll be lucky to stand for more than an hour with a wound like that.”

  
     I had almost forgotten about my shoulder. I had not moved it since I had mounted the horse on the mountain path. It took a small flex of my shoulder to tell me quite clearly that the man was quite accurate. A sigh escapes me and I relinquish. “Very well, thank you, Master Blackwall.”

  
     “Please, just Blackwall.” He says, offering his arm to steady myself as I limp among the refugees and soldiers. “What may I call you?” He asks suddenly.

  
     My name. What had it been? I thought, strained against my memory. How could I forget my own name? I had remembered all names from a video game, but not my given name? I suppose it would have been a name that would have been very out of place in Thedas, and yet…It was a dark, saddening thought, “I…I do not remember.”

  
     Blackwall looked down at me with pity. I dislik being pitied, but his kindness was not lost on me. “The trauma you have faced is likely to blame. You are not the first to suffer loss of memory as a result of this damned war.”

  
     “You are kind, Blackwall.” I say, choking back the sensation of an outburst of tears. I cannot cry, not now, there is too much to do, and I am strong.

  
     “Well, if you need anything, I am in the stables most of the time. Especially if any of these bastards get rough with you. The Inquisitor takes infighting seriously, so don’t hesitate to tell me if someone …well, because you’re a…”

  
     “It is alright, Blackwall. I am used to it,” I lied, but seeing him struggle was too sad.

  
     “That’s not right, miss. In any case, get well, and do listen to Adan, he is one hell of a bastard when he’s ignored.” And with that, the Warden turns and leaves me leaning against the stone wall by the healers, as mages and apothecaries scurry about the more direly injured.

  
     I thought about the fight. The sensation of magic that came from me was exhilarating, and to be honest, frightening. I knew, before it happened, that I was capable of magic, somehow, I remembered that much. I looked at the palm of my left hand, and I willed small orbs of light to hover in my palm, and dance around before dissipating. My side felt warm and upon inspection, the bandage that had kept my side wound at bay was well beyond saturated, and my right hand, which had been holding pressure on it, was now covered in sticky red blood.

  
     In the palm of my right hand, I gather the threads of magic into a healing force, and press it into the wound on my side. I imagine the flesh and muscle stitching back together; focusing past the nauseating pain as I command my body to repair. In moments, I feel my skin through the tear of my shirt, and it is whole, tender, but whole.

  
     “You’re a mage?” A gruff Fareldan voice asks. I look up to see a bald, olive skinned man in tan robes looking at me, his hands full of vials and jars of salves. Adan, the apothecary that survives Haven if you save him, and the man who helps nurse the Inquisitor back to health, when the magical Anchor tries to kill him.

  
     “Yes.” I answer, wiping my hand on my shirt, unsuccessfully removing some of the blood.

  
     “You any good? We need more healers.” He grumbled, handing off the vials and salves to other medics. “If you are capable, can you help with a few of our guests? I know you aren’t in the best condition, but these boys are gonna die if…”

  
     “Please lead the way,” I interrupt before he finishes. He hands me a vial of red liquid. It smells like Nyquil, and tastes of vodka, grass, and some sort of berry. However, immediately after consuming, my wounds feel less harsh, and my energy is slightly restored.

  
     Adan pushes through to the rear of the encampment, where the worst cases are. I cannot help the tears that well in my eyes, as I see men, women, and two children splayed on cots and bedrolls, blood covering their frail bodies. Two soldiers are nearly gutted, unconscious but clinging to life, if by a hair.

  
     My blanket is discarded as I kneel awkwardly by his side. The boy, and I do mean boy, is barely a teenager. I doubt he’d even celebrated his 16 year yet. I focused, gathering the mana as I had before in my hands, and carefully administer the magic. I focus on the internal damage, mending the nicks to his intestines, the punctured lung, the tear in the stomach, then the broken ribs, and shredded muscles, lastly the flesh. I am sweating, and I feel myself weakening, and the wound to my thigh swell and throb, but this boy will die if I stop.

  
     When I hear him finally inhale heavy and strong, I fall on my heels, and Adan comes to inspect the boy’s condition. With a nod, I am happy. His life is spared.

  
     I am handed another potion, this one shimmery blue in color. Lyrium, I assume, and quaff it as well, and I feel my mana swell, the tingling sensation of liquid magic flowing in my veins. A swig of cool water to get the gritty, somewhat metallic taste from my mouth cleared off, and I am onto the next patient.

  
~*~

  
     It was well after sundown by the time Adan stopped me. I had saved the first young man, but lost the second, tended the children, delivered one child, and bandaged a dozen soldiers by the time the haggard alchemist started getting on my case. I relented, and allowed him to re-bandage my leg, and apply a salve to prevent infection. Admittedly, I was tired, and not just in the sleepy sort of way, but in my very bones.

  
     I was offered a modest chunk of bread and broth for dinner, as it was all Adan could spare me, and I accepted gracefully. I had not considered eating this whole time.

  
     After eating I rose, stiff but no worse for the wear, and rinsed my face and hands in a bucket of water set aside for such things. I looked around, listened to the groans and whimpers of full grown men and women, and I decided I was not about to let myself rest again until the remaining wounded had been properly seen to.

  
     While most of the patients slept, I kept myself busy helping those who were in the most discomfort, magically easing their pain, calming their nightmares, and redressing wounds as best I could by the light of the dwindling fire. It was the strangest feeling, knowing what to do and how, in regards to healing and aiding the injured and ailing, but not knowing how you know. I suppose, these memories had been knocked out of my head at the same time my name was. Makes sense, in some sort of twisted way.

  
     Sunrise was warm and far more beautiful than I had expected. I could already smell the ovens baking bread for the soldiers and wounded by the time the skies began to turn pink with the rising sun. Everyone I could tend to was resting or being seen by one of the other mages. Adan ordered me to take some time and find a suitable place to wash up, saying it was necessary for my wounds to heal. Honestly, I think he was telling me I smelled bad.

  
     After walking the courtyards for a time, it became very obvious that there was nothing like a bathing area, and that most people resorted to warm water in a pale with a rag. That explained why so few had long hair. How long can I go without washing mine? I do not wish to cut it, I like my hair long.

  
     “It is pretty, long.” A soft male voice muttered beside me. I jumped but a little, admittedly I was not paying attention to the people around me.

  
    Sitting on the ledge over-looking the lower grounds was a young man, thin, dressed in clothes that were patched, fitted strangely, and topped with a large, wide brimmed hat. His white-blonde hair hung over his eyes, which he focused on his fidgeting fingers. He was just as sweet and gentle looking in person as—

  
     “What game? I was never in a game.” The boy looked confused, and focused on me.

  
     Cole, the spirit of compassion, the boy who could read thoughts in order to find their pain and make them better. He had always been one of my favorites.

  
     “Favorite what?” Cole asked, tilting his head ever so slightly.

  
     “Friend,“ I answer with a smile. “I am glad to finally meet you in person.”

  
     “Glad yes.” He hops off the ledge and stands squarely in front of me. “Glad, glad you are not wrong, glad we are who you remember.”

  
     “Something like that, yes.” I shift my weight off the injured leg.

  
     “You still hurt. Why don’t you heal it?” Cole asks, bending down to inspect the bandages.

  
     “In case others need me more. I cannot be selfish in a time like this,” I say, rubbing my sore shoulder. “What if one of the scouting parties comes back and I am needed, but my mana is gone?”

  
     “You help the hurt. Are you a spirit too?” The glitter of hope in his eyes was adorable.

  
     “No, I am sorry. I am just a woman.” I answer, patting him on the shoulder.

  
     “A pretty one. He thinks so.” Cole mutters. “Pretty, patient, proud, perhaps I’ll ask her…”

  
     I am blushing again. “Th-thank you, Cole.” Suddenly, I feel I really need to bathe, if someone is thinking about me like that.

  
     “There is hot water by the barracks.” Cole starts walking away, toward the soldier’s area, and I follow, silently wishing I would turn down the blushing.

  
~*~

  
     Cole is my not-always-silent companion over the next two weeks. He helps me help the wounded, shows me around Skyhold, and gives me tidbits of information. He never asked for my name, just appeared and began talking to me. “You do not know it, so why should I ask?” he said once, when I had thought about his presence. Such a simple way of thinking, spirits have.

  
     He told me briefly about the companions, mentioning mostly how they treated him. He told me where they liked to spend their time while they were between missions, and what they preferred to be called. There was some gossip about a handful of young recruits going after a particularly good looking servant, something about the arrival of a dwarf that liked magical stuff (I assumed he meant Dagna, the Arcanist who specializes in crafting magical gear), and general gossip about who is in bed with who, who was sited near what camp, and so on.

  
     He also delighted in telling me about the people he helped, and people he wanted to keep helping. On occasion, I’d go with him to ‘help’, although I’d more often than not do the work. With my shoulder on the mend, I began to lend assistance anywhere I could, mostly thanks to Cole’s urging.

  
     Then there were the big events; the ones that changed the political landscape of Thedas and the Inquisition. Cole informed me that the Chantry had been ‘very mean’ to the Inquisitor, when he went to meet with any of the remaining mothers who were willing to listen to reason. The Lord Seeker had abandoned Val Royaeux and the Chantry, and the Inquisitor had recruited the illustrious First Enchanter Vivian (“She has horns too, but they come off” Cole had told me), and Val Royaeux’s local Red Jenny (a group of the poor and downtrodden who like to stick it to nobility), a young, wild-child elf by the name of Sera.

  
     The Inquisitor had just returned from the Storm Coast, returning with the mercenary group, The Chargers. Cole had a rather confused line of inquiry regarding Iron Bull and his horns. Do they come off, are they heavy, and many other painfully adorable questions that I had to resist laughing at, and, equally, try to answer sufficiently. The Inquisitor had fought off a group of radicals who had slaughtered some of the scouts sent to document the area, and had noted siting a dragon flying over the coast.

  
     Lastly, the Inquisitor had made his way to Redcliff, and had come across a strange conflict. The invitation he had received from the former Grand Enchanter Fiona was in question. Fiona denied having been in Val Royaeux, furthermore, a Tevinter magister had convinced the rebel mages to pledge themselves to him, in trade for protection from the Templars. It had been a trap, and as it turns out, the Inquisitor had managed to escape relatively unharmed, and had won over the alliance of the mages.

  
     Well, that was all exciting to hear from the very observant spirit, it was a shame that I only needed a few words to remember the events in the game. Now the next trick would be how to convince the Inquisitor that I knew the outcomes of these events, and hope to prevent more casualties. Furthermore, that I am from some other world, have no memory of my name, and was not an elf before unceremoniously arriving in the middle of a blizzard. It was not going to be easy, especially since I had been in Skyhold for two weeks, and had yet to see him, much less meet him.

  
     I swirl the remnants of my ale about in my mug, sitting on the floor on the third story of the tavern, Cole beside me, watching the patrons laugh and chatter. “About the Inquisitor, Cole…”


	2. Chapter 2

I had tried to tell Cole about the ‘story’ I had known, the trials I could relate safely without worrying about it affecting the conflicts further. He listened, and more importantly, he saw—through my thoughts—what I remembered. I had hoped that he would go directly to the Inquisitor, that I would be able to sit and talk to him about the events unfolding in Thedas, and perhaps to get a little bit more information to compare to my knowledge of the game.

How different could the game be from the reality? Could my appearing here have disrupted the ‘story’ enough to change the events that are bound to take place? Like the butterfly effect: will my existing change something big somewhere down the road? I don’t know, but I needed more information in order to gauge just how changed Thedas is.

To my great annoyance, I was not permitted in the main portion of the keep. Although, I was able to get to the gardens, and the temple, the library and the inner workings of the Inquisition were still off limits to mere refugees. So, I had hoped Cole would be able to get me access to the information I needed, or at least get someone to talk to me. I should have suspected that they would be very suspicious of an apostate elf asking too many questions.

It was an abnormally cold morning, and I was still working away at chopping wood.

“You promised. She knows the story! She is trying to help!” Cole pleaded, approaching me from behind.

“It is beyond my control,” a woman’s voice with an accent that sounded something like a cross of French and Slavic replied. I brought the axe down once more, tossed the halves to the pile along the outer wall. My shirt was soaked with sweat, as was my face, and I was wiping slicked hair from my brow when the woman approached.

“You are the apostate with no name,” the woman stated, rather than asked. It was Cassandra, warrior, former Seeker—the special forces of the Templars. I could see she was tense, but also that Cole’s pleading had not fallen on deaf ears. She was not wearing full armor, which was surprising, since in the game she was almost always wearing a breastplate and gloves. Today, she was just wearing a tunic, her normal trousers and boots, and her sword hung off the belt at her waist.

“I am.” I carefully put the hatchet alongside the stand I had been using. “Is there something wrong?”

“We need to talk. Now.” Cassandra replied, looking straight at me. Cole was worried, he was trying to get the woman’s attention, but Cassandra was not having it.

“But She is helping!” Cole said finally.

“It is alright, Cole. They need to be sure I am not trying to hurt anyone.” I smile as best I could, and spy two more soldiers coming up to escort me. I had hoped it would not come to this, but I did understand it.

Cassandra led me to the doors leading to the dungeons below Skyhold.  I had never been interrogated before, and I had never been jailed either. But, despite this, I do my best to retain an air of confidence and innocence as I am led down to an open room.

The room was dark, cold, and smelled of damp dust. There were two chairs in the room, wooden, facing one another. I was directed to sit in the one with the back facing the door. Cassandra sat in the other, and the two guards stood by the door.

“Cole insists you are as you say.” The Nevarran starts, her eyes studying my dirty, unkempt clothes. "Prove it.”

“How can I?” My mind is racing, trying to configure something out of the fragments of memory and details about the world.

Another figure steps from a dark corner behind Cassandra. She is tall, wearing agile chainmail, hooded, and I immediately get the sense that I need to be very careful. This woman, her cropped red hair barely peeking from beneath her hood, was Leliana, also known as The Nightingale, one of the best spies in Thedas.  “Simple, what is your name?”

“I do not know.”

“You lie.” Cassandra mumbles. Leliana circles beside her, looking into my face silently for a minute.

“Where did you study?” Leliana continues.

“I don’t remember.”

The spy does not change her expression, but moves slowly, to circle me as a vulture would a carcass. “Where did you come from?”

Shit. How to answer. My blood is pounding in my ears. I can’t focus. What could I possibly tell them?

“Answer, mage.” Cassandra snarls.

“Not Thedas.” I finally whisper, looking at my hands that are in my lap.

Leliana stops, her gloved fingers tapping her chin in thought. “Not Thedas, you say? Do you really expect us to believe that?” Her French sounding accent peaking as she spoke.

“It is the truth. I do not know how, or remember when exactly I got here.” I explain. “I remember walking in the snow, when we were attacked by the Red Templars.”

“Where you miraculously had magic to fend them off?” Cassandra sounded beyond skeptical. “And yet no circles, clans, or the rebel mages have not put any claim on such a powerful mage?”

My stomach curls in a knot, my throat burns with bile, and I feel my skin chill in the presence of my formerly sweat covered shirt. “I do not know.”

“For someone who claims to know what will happen, you do not seem to know much at all!” Cassandra stands, pacing behind her chair.

“What do you know then?” Leliana asks, still circling me. I see her glance up at one of the guards briefly. If I had not been looking right at her eyes, I would have probably missed it.

“I could tell you details about almost everyone close to the Inquisitor.” I start.

“Any spy worth his salt would be able to find this out.” Leliana pointed out.

“Yes, but I suspect there is some even you won’t know. And if you do not know it, how likely is it that any other spy be capable of finding out?” I watch as Cassandra sits again, her deadly stare drilling holes in my skull.

“Talk.” Cassandra demands.

“Leliana, you traveled with the Hero of Fareldan, and fought with them during the last blight.” I start. “You left after Alastair was named King to work for the Divine.”

She nods. “Cassandra, there is a story that you single handedly fought off dragons to become the Right Hand of the Divine. You brought a dwarf here to get information about one of his friends by the name of Hawke. You interrogated him, and he told you the story of the Champion of Kirkwall, and the beginning of the Mage Rebellion.  The dwarf is a surfacer by the name of Varric Tethras.”

At this point, I have the women’s attention, although both are trying to hide it, so I continue. “Master Tethras is a writer; he told you he had not known where Hawke was, even though you sought him to lead the Inquisition. Once you got here, to Skyhold, he announced he had a friend that was willing to help with information about Corypheus.” I can’t help but let my lip curl into a small sideways grin. “Hawke will be helpful.”

“He’s here?” Cassandra asks, shocked.

“I do not know. But Hawke is the friend Varric refers to, if my visions are correct.”

Cassandra gets up and leaves then. I almost feel bad for throwing Varric under the bus, but in this case, I am sure he would have done the same to me, had the roles been reversed. Leliana is standing against the wall in front of me now, leaning back and watching me. “Go on.” She says.

“Commander Cullen…” I start, “Has stopped taking Lyrium. He gets ill and has issues sleeping now. It is a brave thing, he’s doing.”

“How could you possibly…” One of the guards whispers. I had forgotten they were there. Leliana glares at him, and the man instantly silences.

“Josephine, your ambassador, she is trying to reinstate trade for her family.” I continue. “Her family was exiled from trading in Orlais by a family that no longer exists in nobility. She is going to find soon, that there is a contract on the lives of anyone who attempts this, deep in the House of Repose headquarters.”

I should have worded that differently. Leliana is at my throat in an instant, a dagger sharp against my neck. “Do not threaten Josephine.” She growls.

“It is not…me.” I whisper, trying to avoid swallowing and cutting my own throat. “It was contracted over 100 years ago.”

The spy backs away, and my heart starts to beat again. “How much more do you need me to tell you to believe me?”

She doesn’t speak, only nods, and a sharp pain interrupts my consciousness, and again my world goes black.

~*~

Talking, asking, prodding my memories. He asks, he beats, he asks, he whips, he asks, and pours that sour drink in my mouth. I cannot stop, I answer. Too much said, he cannot tell them. Too much known, he’ll change the story, he’ll change it before I can help.

Bleeding, begging, barraged, broken. Beaten with questions and whips. Blurry.

My eyes, my head. The pain in my shoulder, so sharp. Mouth parched, talking, raspy names and places, what I knew.

Did I say too much?

I cannot remember. Faces, my captor all blurred and dark and shadow. How did I forget?

“Even the prettiest birds sing eventually.” A voice sneered. Sharp, stinging, slicing leather across my back. “You’ll be feeding me for a year, little birdy.” His tone was so confident. What had I said? “It is a shame Bull didn’t have the balls to do this himself. The Qun would have rewarded him nicely for you.” He lifts my chin with the handle of the whip. His face still hidden, shadowed with a hood.

“Why…” my voice a whisper, gargled, with sticky blood from the beating.

He laughs. He knows now. “You are a monster, and I am your keeper. No one will believe the crazy rabbit claiming ancient elven gods rise and threaten Thedas!”

“No…you can’t…tell them…”

He hits me, my head rings, my face stings, metal in my mouth, I spit it at him. “I can do as I please you pathetic shit!” He growls.

Magic, will it, make it free me. Instead, pain, it jolts and I scream. Like lightning striking my heart. The man laughs. “Trying again? I told you those shackles will keep you from casting. You are going to kill yourself before I get the chance.”

Despair. All of my work, I’ll die before I help. No, I must live. I can bear it, I must bear it.

“Let her go.”

Cole, my friend. He came. Relief, restraints will be let loose soon.

“How did you-“

Thundering crash, heavy wood against the stone, the rush of cold wind on the stinging flesh. I cannot see, figures, rushing. The hooded one is struck down, Cole, no why did you cut him?

“It is ok, you are safe now,” A soft, warm, Farelden accent, comforts. “Solas! She needs help!” Careful, strong hands, they lift me down, carry me from the dark.

“Solas, we’re losing her!” sunlight, warm but it all goes so dark, swirling, turning. Mana pushing into me, not mine, but it is safe. Tingling, touching all the hurts, and then I sleep.

~*~

I am alive.

Murmurs in my head, gentle touch of careful hands. My body is stiff, my head is full of noise and cotton. Someone brushes me with magic, and my skin stings as it mends beneath the spell.

“How did this happen?” the Fareldan voice asks, he sounds mad.

“I don’t know boss.” Big, his voice is big. He sounds like the one I know as The Iron Bull. The big, gray skinned, bull horned Qunari, missing an eye. “He always was a bit shady. I didn’t expect this.”

“This is unacceptable. You will have your men vetted by the end of the week.” Leliana. She’s here too? “Inquisitor, what should we do? Everything she has said was true, although it could be luck that she found that information, I think it would be wise to keep her close…”

“Indeed.” The Fareldan said. He sighed. “I just left for a minute, to get her food and drink…and she was gone.”

“If the kid hadn’t gotten rid of him, I would have, Boss.” Iron Bull said. “He was harsh on the poor thing.”

I felt Cole. He was beside me. He brushed the hair from my face. “It’s ok, it is safe.” He whispered, and I finally opened my eyes.

My friend was sitting on my left, his hat in his lap. He smiled when I opened my eyes. The room was warm, but dim. A fire was burning in the hearth, and a candle was sitting on a bedside table.

“This is Solas. He helps your hurts.” Cole said. My stomach would have flipped, if I was stronger. I turned to my left, and there he was; hands hovering over my arm, pale green magic floating down from his fingers, mending the broken and torn arm. The candlelight shone off his bald head, which was only reflective due to the sweat that dripped. His shirt was saturated in spots as well. He was pouring a lot of energy into me.

“And that is the Inquisitor.” Cole points to the doorway, where a dark haired man stands, arms folded, talking in hushed words to Leliana, and I could see Iron Bull just outside the open door. “And Iron Bull. It was his man that did it.”

“What…happened?” I choke, my throat feels like I had made it of sand.

“Talking is unwise, until you’re healed properly.” The elf advised.

“One of the Charger’s lesser members thought it would be better to drill you for information, and sell it to the highest bidder. Apparently he had been watching you for some time.” The Inquisitor said, dismissing Leliana and Iron Bull. “You were put through some awful stuff, my dear. The truth serum you were fed should have worn off, but Bull says you’ll be groggy for a day or so.”

I nod. At least my secrets are safe. At least, the ones I knew of.

Solas sighs and leans back, his magic stopping abruptly. “That is all I can do for now. We should change the bandages, and then let her sleep.”

Cole pops from existence, and moments later Cassandra is at the door. “Cole told me to come. Is there a problem, Inquisitor?”

“None, Seeker.” Solas says, wiping his face on a rag and cleaning his hands.

“Solas needs help changing bandages, and I am sure our guest would prefer a woman to be here, as she will be a bit…exposed.” The Inquisitor said, and I could have sworn he blushed.

“I see.” The Seeker unbuckles her sword, leaning it against the wall. “She should have what dignity remains, left in tact.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Solas answered. “Sit her up; we’ll begin with her back.”

Cassandra was far gentler than I had expected. She held the blanket, or used her body to shield prying eyes from my exposed front. Solas was careful with me, applying a salve to my wounds before winding bandages around my torso. An hour later, I felt like a mummy, but I was more comfortable.

“This was not how I had hoped to be introduced,” the Inquisitor said, sitting at the foot of my bed after Cassandra lowered a baggy tunic onto me. “I had been meaning to speak with you for a while…”

I try to smile, it hurts, but I try anyway. “It is a pleasure to finally…meet you…Inquisitor.” I choke, ignoring Solas’s chastising stare as he cleans his hands and bundles the used bandages together.

“Please, just call me Maxwell.” The Inquisitor said. He flashed a handsome smile, and had I been in my right mind, I would have blushed at such a handsome creature paying attention to me. “Well, healer’s orders, we need to let you rest. If there is anything you need, a guard is outside, let her know.” He stands, pulling down the front of his soft tunic. “I’ll be around to check on you. Do not worry, you will come to no further harm. Once you are well, we shall speak.” With that, he exits.

“Sleep, da’len. You will need it to recover.” Solas says, grabbing his staff from its resting place in the corner. “I have left you some books to read, if you cannot sleep. It seems Cole has been lending you my library as it is.”

“Thank you, Solas.” I say. He cracks a smile, and I realize I had not, in fact, said it in common, but elvish. He nods and he too leaves.

My eyes close as the candle burns out, and I drift into a comfortable sleep, lulled by the crackling fire and soothing potions.

_Time itself fell away, the meaning of seconds, minutes, hours, days dissolving away in the dark. The pain and my voice—now spoken in the language of The People—were my companions, the only things that remained constant. I would tell myself of the memories that brought me here, even though the people felt so distant, and I could no longer remember their names._

_Everything burned._

_Every cell in my body was aflame, mending, bending, lending fuel to the fires. Why did it hurt? My flesh was numb, but my soul, my thoughts, my very memories were burning to ash within my mind. Why must I hurt? I felt a scream leave my lips, but no sound echoed from my throat. If I yet had eyes, I could no longer see; not light, nor movement could I detect through the racking pain that coursed in my own blood._

_Think, remember, and do not forget the reasons. Why I came here, why I burn; I chose this. Yes, I came willingly. She saved me once, but could not save them; I wanted to leave. She said I could help; I could get away from the pain of watching them die. This is what it must have felt like, burning alive in that car. Why did they have to burn? Kids and their drinks…that boy had hit us, he hurt us, and he killed us. He was not sorry._

_She pulled me from the car. “I can’t save them. I am sorry.” She said. Like mother’s voice long ago, when I was a girl. “It is not your fault.” I cried hot tears that day, and many days after._

_Then, she saved me again. I was alone, so alone, and she came to me. She promised me a new life, far away from this burning memory. It would hurt, she said, I would change, I would become more, and less; but I had to do something for her. I had to help. I had to save the people she loved in return._

_Her face was burned away in my memory, only the feeling of her remained. She comforted me, told me I was her only hope. She gave me a drink; it reminded me of chalk, mint, and rose tea, mixed in a tiny glass vial. She said it would help me adapt, that the Fade would come to me like a beacon and change me into what I needed to be. I felt words, knew things, slowly as we walked. It was as if memories were being forced into my mind. It was the potion, she had said, it has already begun. She helped me change. She helped me wash away the remnants of Earth. When I was clean, she gave me a new dress. It was cotton, or so I thought. Simple, like a smock, little more than a bag with holes for my head and arms._

_She brushed my hair gently, like mother did years ago. She spoke of winding spires among evergreen trees, of spirits that play among the children and wild grass, of magic and knowledge farther than the eye can see. Her fingers worked the knots from my blonde locks, and she told me of The People. Elegant, powerful, simple yet complicated. They were driven by emotions far more powerful than I had known. They were ancient, and only died when they wished to. The strongest led them, the Evanuris, she called them. Once, she said, she had been one of them, the Mother of All, they had called her._

_She showed me the mirror. I saw myself, standing there, in my white smock, barefaced and dazed. The thoughts mixing in languages I had previously never known, I am changing._ _Then the pain began. She said my body was broken from my years of misuse…and I was still human. It felt like my body burned away, like my curves began to melt away into sweat that poured from my skin. She said it would take time, that I would sleep, but the pain would remain. The fire burned, my bones ached and creaked; it felt as if they were being shaved away, dissolving into something smaller._

_It was been dark. So dark, alone, quiet and far away. I burned, I warped, I repaired and I fell apart. Memories, the faces of my family, they are gone now. The things I knew, the places I saw, they are fading. How long will it be dark? How long will I burn?_

_Then it changed. I don’t remember when I realized I was breathing. The shallow, shaky intakes of cool air that chilled the fires still raging in my body were new. My eyes opened to snow._

_“It is not just a dream, child.” The woman’s voice said; the one who brushed my hair, the one who brought me here. “It is time to live, child. Wake up.”_


	3. Chapter 3

The sun feels warm on my arm, even though the bandage. The morning light is bright and cheery, illuminating my small room. For the first time in what feels like ages, I can see clearly.

My arms are both bandaged from palm to mid bicep, my fingers are bruised, but not hurting. My hair is braided clumsily, the rope falling heavy down my chest. There are bandages from armpit down to bellybutton, splotches of dark dried blood barely seeping though.

“Knock, knock.” A familiar voice sounded from the door. “Be sure you’re decent, my dear.”

“Come in, Inqui—Maxwell.” I call back. The door opened, and the Inquisitor enters, balancing a plate in one hand, a bundle in a towel in his teeth, and another sack in the other hand. “Oh my, is it my birthday? What service!” I laugh as he bows, nearly dumping the plate on the floor.

He places the larger sack on a chair by the writing table, and hands me the plate and smaller bundle. The plate is filled with a variety of fruit, cheeses, and a small glass of some sort of juice. The bundle was a small loaf of fresh baked bread, still warm. “I thought you’d be hungry after all that.” He said. “Oh, and I took the liberty of having some new clothes brought in too, since it looks like you had not gotten any since you arrived.”

I took a sip of the juice and a bite of cheese. “Thank you, Maxwell. You are very kind.” He smiles in a charming, and somewhat intentionally awkward way. “You did not need to go out of your way on my account.”

“On the contrary, I feel I do. Had I not left when I did, you would have been safe.” Maxwell said, stealing a piece of fruit from my plate. “I had thought maybe someone might be after your knowledge, and I had such a great disguise—“

“Disguise, Inquisitor?”

He laughs. It is sweet. “Well yeah, I had to see for myself if you were lying. I was one of the guards. I bet you didn’t even notice. Leliana means well, but she sometimes over-thinks things, over-analyzes situations. I was afraid she might still think you a spy.”

“And you do not?” I ask, finishing the juice and handing him the remnants of the plate.

“No.” he finishes the last of the food and puts the plate off to the side. “And neither does Solas. He sees many things that I cannot—being a mage and all. He went looking for you in the Fade, or so he said. He told me that the spirits had vouched for you, or some nonsense like that.” He carefully lifted my left hand, inspecting the bruised knuckles. “I guess you won’t be chopping wood any time soon. Blackwall will be disappointed.”

My face is warm. Damn the blushing. “Blackwall? Why would he be…”

Maxwell laughs again and stands, gathering the dishes and bits of food. “You have caught a great many men’s eye and a gal’s too, actually. Don’t tell Sera I told you.” He winks, and with a chuckle opens the door. “I will send Solas in soon, to check your wounds.” And he leaves me alone.

What a strange man. He is kind, almost juvenile in a way, but I like his laugh. It makes me hope I will recover soon. I finally have the Inquisitor on my side, and I can finally start saving people.

Suddenly, I feel the need to clean myself, with so many people watching me; I had to try to maintain some sort of dignity and pride. Alas, it won’t be right now.

As promised, Solas knocks and enters about an hour later. I have several books out by then, two of which I had already read, thanks to Cole bringing them to me the week before.  I was about halfway through a report on theoretical studies on the Veil when the elf arrives.

“Intriguing choice, I did not think you would even open that particular volume.” He smiles, setting down a handful of bandages and salves.

“Sounds like a bunch of Orlesian peacocks inflating their egos with daydreams and money.” I sigh and close the book. Admittedly, it was a load of horse manure. I knew the vague details as to the origin of the Veil, and its creator was sitting down now to unwrap the bandages from my arms. “But, they are at least trying to use the brain they have. Even if they are wrong.”

“What makes you so certain they are wrong, da’len?” he hums, tossing the wrapping from my left arm to the floor and inspecting the appendage in the sun. The wounds look healed mostly, bruised and angry yes, but the skin is whole.

“It just sounds too complicated.” I lie. What else could I do? If he assumes I know, he might kill me there, or just have me silenced. “I would think it is something more simple, and I think…well, I have no proof, but I believe the Veil wasn’t always there.”

He pauses a moment, lowers my arm to my side before working on the other. “Why do you say that?”

I swallow hard, my mind racing so fast I expect smoke to be billowing out of my ears. “Because. There are places, like Skyhold, where it almost feels like the Fade still lingers there. Yes, the Veil is thin there, but it is different.” Scrambling for words, must sound convincing. “The feeling is older, wiser, dusty, strained but still holding.”

“You sound like Cole.” Solas smirks.

He inspects this arm too, before having me sit up. He stands behind me as I help unravel the bandages from my torso, keeping a very chaste distance between him and myself, and his eyes well away from my lady bits. “I enjoy his perspective.” I tell him finally. “He was kind to me, accepted me, without question, when none other would.”

“He is a good spirit, and a good friend. You are lucky to bond so well with him.” Solas dabs a bit of medication onto a couple places and helps bandage the open sores.

“I believe so,” I smile. “He speaks very highly of the inner circle. He likes you, I think that’s why he keeps borrowing your books for me.

“He does not quite understand the concept of personal property.” The handsome elf explains. “Tell me, have you tried to heal yourself? I was told you are a mage of no small skill, and your wounds are recovering quite quickly.”

I hadn’t thought about that. I had not had the strength to try until this morning. “I have not, not since the attack on the road.”

He nods. I can tell he is trying to process this. Now that I think of it, even he did not recover faster than the other members of the party, even being an ‘ancient elven god’. Honestly, I had not thought about the fact that I was healing faster when I arrived at Skyhold either. It just seemed natural somehow.

“Solas…I have a favor to ask you.” I ask finally. “I…well, I don’t remember anything. I do not even remember my own name. I hear you are a master at searching the Fade, and I was hoping perhaps that you could see if you could find…well, me, I suppose.”

“I already have, da’len, and I have found nothing. You have a rare opportunity to become whomever you wish.” He picks up the books I had discarded and stacks them with care on the writing table. “However, if you wish my help, you may come visit me. And we can talk during our travels. There are many things I wish to ask you, and I fear we may not have much time.”

“Travels?”

Solas opens the clothes bag and peeks inside. “Yes, da’len. Did the Inquisitor not tell you? You will be joining us on the way to Crestwood. We leave tomorrow.”

~*~

_My world grayed, swirled, mixed, mingled color and light. It built a world, a memory before my eyes. I remember the Fade was responsible for creating dreams, but I had yet to experience any, that I could remember anyway._

_The colors created a grand garden, dotted by colorful flora and encircled by a tall, ivy covered white stone wall. The moon cast its glow upon the grounds, making the white stone of the pavers illuminate the garden. Small hovering globes of blue light lit the grounds from above, making the whole place look as if one walked among the stars._

_Somewhere a deep, rhythmic music hummed. I looked around where I stood, taking in every detail. The Fade was fascinating! I wonder what memory I was seeing? I touched a flower, still open seemingly unaware it was night. There was a mirror hanging behind the bush. It was then I noticed I was wearing something very different than my normal attire; long sleeves of shimmering, almost sheer white, like something out of Lord of the Rings. I also noticed a mask on my face, in the design of a very decorative white wolf. It was sort of floating there, without a band to keep it to my face, nor glue to adhere it. Interesting. More than that, I was looking at my new body for the first time, but I could only see half of my face. Intriguing._

_I follow the sound of music and the melodic voices of elvhen speech to a clearing around a massive, beautiful weeping-willow like tree. The tendrils of leaves had flittering orbs of light dancing around, like glittering Christmas lights, and they swayed gently in the breeze._

_There were quite a few people here. I could smell the fragrant crisp scent of a strong wine on the air, even with the flowers surrounding me. Everyone was so beautiful; luxurious gowns and robes, glittering jewels, long, shimmering hair, each wearing a carefully sculpted mask. I wasn’t aware they wore such things in Elvhenan. They were not terribly unlike the masks worn in Orlais in current Thedas, only shaped like animals. They sway with such divinity, I would have been enchanted to stay and watch until I died of old age. The music came from a series of enchanted instruments beneath the tree, which played without anyone sitting at them._

_There was energy to it, the magic, hormones, and will behind each move was almost tangible.  The music was unlike any I had ever experienced in my waking world; the songs were fluid, balanced and constructed with such intent, that it was never a doubt as to what the song had meant to portray._

_Watching the Elvhen dance makes me ache with want. I try to move, to sway and swing with even the moderate grace, but found the experience sadly lacking. I could not force myself to move with the sort of fluidity as these people displayed._

_There was an alcove, mostly guarded by a rose-like bush, where I stood and watched. The faster paced song gave way to a much more rhythmic, reverberating song. Something I would have enjoyed during nights of…_

_“Warm, writhing, breathless bodies—“ Cole whispered beside me. I jumped, looking at him blushed and embarrassed. “It is a good song.”_

_“Cole! What are you doing in my dream?” I demanded, looking back at the party. A small group of elves were gathered around one man, he looked as if he was trying to get away from them, but it was hard to tell for sure from such a distance._

_“I wanted to make you sleep. Good dreams make you feel better.” Cole said simply, before disappearing in a puff of gray mist._

_I look back across the garden, and the group has abandoned their mark, although they appear to be looking for the man._

_The music continues, and I watch, yearning, feeling the fibers of my body beg to join them. The melody creates such a stirring in me that I am almost uncomfortable, as the music had all intentions of stirring up hormones I had almost forgotten about over the last few weeks._

_There was a rustle of brush and a figure steps into my little alcove. He was tall, his auburn hair swept half up, exposing his defined jawbone beneath the wolf mask. His attire was much simpler, compared to the rest of the party, consisting of a dark blue fitted tunic, and trousers. He didn’t say anything, and it took a moment for me to remember to exhale. Even through his mask he was beautiful._

_Voices sounded nearby, the group was looking for him. He rolled his eyes, and sighed. Without thinking, I grabbed his hand and ran back the way I came, through the party, through the walkways, weaving around paths and fountains until I could no longer hear the music, much less hear any voices beyond that of small bugs and the hoot of an owl._

_I laughed, I must have looked crazy. The man just stood there, lightly panting, looking behind us in case we were, somehow, followed. I would have never, ever, in my right mind, been so forward with a stranger, and even less so with an attractive man. Finally, I collected myself and stood to face my newfound companion._

_He smiled, and, for a moment, looked as if he was going to speak. Instead, he offered his hand, and, not wanting to be impolite, I placed mine within. With a slight, roguish smile, he brought my fingers to his lips, and placed a simple kiss on them. My breath hitched in my throat, and I was immediately at a loss for words._

_How could I be so thrown off by a dream? The Fade is a mysterious place, but for now, I just need to figure out how not to embarrass myself._

_I need to wake up._

I jolted upright in bed, my face still sticky with sweat, and the sun not yet breaching the windowsill. It took me a minute to calm my heartbeat down before I attempted to stand. It was a kind gesture to create a dream where I could be happy, I was thankful for Cole. But why did it strike me so strongly? Is everything really that much easier in the fade?

I look forward to sleep now, more than I had before. Not only to piece together how I came here, but also to see the world that the Fade could offer me. Sadly, I am aware this may be the last good night’s sleep I get for some time.

The bag of clothes still sat undisturbed on the chair, and I shuffled to it, rummaging through the garments within. I first located a set of undergarments, and hurriedly changed into them. I pulled out a pair of simple leggings, made of supple soft leather, and a fitted tunic not unlike the ones the Inquisitor wears in the game.

I am moments from finishing the last button when someone knocks at the door. I open it to find Leliana standing there. “I hope you slept well.”

“I—yes, I did.” I answer and let her in the room.

“Here is a backpack, and a pair of boots for the road. Pack as much as you can carry and be down by the stables by dawn. The Inquisitor is waiting.” She places the multi-pocketed pack on the bed, and the knee high boots on the floor. “And…I am sorry. No one should have treated you like that.”

I smile. “Thank you, Leliana. It was not your fault. The man to blame is dead, and all is well.”

She nods, and turns to leave. “Please keep him safe.” She says before the door closes behind her. I wonder if that is a change from the story…perhaps Leliana is a romance option now? Did she have feelings for the Inquisitor? I waste little time before pulling my new boots on and packing what clothes I had into the backpack.

I make my way through the halls, down into the garden and out toward the stables, stopping only to greet any of the refugees that I recognized. It was suddenly apparent when I arrived, that I was the only member of this rag-tag group that was not geared for battle. Even Solas was wearing heavy robes with runes and spells imbedded in the fabric, and a staff strapped to his back.

“There she is!” Maxwell chimed up from the stable his Charger was housed in, leading the beast from his pen. “It is good to see you up and about. I was afraid we would have to let you sit this one out too.”

“I still believe that is the safest course.” Cassandra noted, tightening down the saddle bags. “She is a liability.”

"Come on Cassandra! Live a little!” Maxwell laughed. “Besides, you didn’t see the remains of those Red Templars on the mountain path. She can hold her own.”

Solas hands me a heavy cloak, lined with furs at the neck, and hooded. “That being said, it would be wise if you avoided fighting. You are not prepared.”

Well, it was nice that what I wanted was taken into consideration. “If it is such a problem, why is it that I am coming along?”

“Because his Inquisitorialness insisted, ” A new voice chimed in. “And we all want to see if your predictions hold water.” My favorite dwarf steps up, his sturdy pony already loaded and ready to go. “The name is Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, and as of late, least favored dwarf of the Inquisition.”

Well, glad to see they are confident in my capacity. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Tethras.” I bow, and smile.

“You may regret that position later.” Solas adds.

“Aw, come on Chuckles, she and I will be great friends in no time.” The dwarf winks at me and mounts in a single swift motion.

“I…I do not see a horse for me to ride.” I say. “I was a little unprepared, I am sorry.”

“You’ll ride with Solas.” Cassandra tells me, taking my bag and strapping it to the mahogany colored Hart—a large reindeer looking creature with antlers more like a moose—waiting with the other horses. “The saddle is not big enough for two, or the Inquisitor would have you ride with him.” I swear she blushes a little. “To keep an eye on you, so he claims.”

“I see.” I sigh. Although my riding skills were sub-par, I had hoped to retain some of my pride by riding alone, besides, being that close to Solas is…well, I need to cut that thought short before my face turns cherry red. “Very well. I suppose I have little say in the matter.”

Just as the sun lit the lower courtyard, we set off; Maxwell and Cassandra in the lead, Varric behind, and myself, seated quite closely to Solas’s front.

~*~

We made good time; we met with few obstacles, and the weather was warm enough that by midday, I had removed the cloak, as the proximity to my saddle partner made me quite warm. Everyone talked and joked as old friends, telling tales and talking of memories from childhood, joking and poking fun at one another. I laughed and felt quite at home, even though I was sitting on a very attractive elf’s lap on hart-back.

We rode almost straight through the first day, and met with no confrontation. I had hoped, albeit recklessly, to see a rift up close. I was assured that it was nothing to be in awe of, that it was in fact, terrifying, and I would more than likely get my fill of them before the end. Alas, we arrived at a clearing off the path a ways, where Cassandra and Maxwell decided camp would be set.

Maxwell first came to the side of the hart, and lifted me off of Solas’s lap, without asking or hesitating. “You probably could use a bit of a walk about to stretch your legs. Why don’t we go gather some dry wood for a fire, while the others set up camp?” He smiled, and offered his arm, and I stood there, slack jawed for a moment before taking it.

“Shouldn’t we help with the tents? Or I could go alone, you could help.” I say, as he leads me from the clearing. I spot Solas dismounting, following us with his gaze; his face is a mask of neutrality, but his actions seem frustrated, short, and harsh. He was pulling my bag off of the saddle when Maxwell tugged me along a path.

“Well, it wasn’t much for a first day, but what do you think?” Maxwell asked, bending over to pick up a healthy sized log. I gathered twigs, dried grass, and smaller logs.

“As you said, it wasn’t real eventful.” I started. “But seeing the world is eye-opening. It sounds strange, I am sure, but I feel as if I am seeing everything for the first time.”

“It doesn’t seem strange at all.” He replied. “With your memory gone, I imagine it would seem that way.”

I nod, and fill my arms with wood. “Everyone seems great. You are lucky to have such a support system.”

“Yeah, I suppose I am.” And we head back toward the clearing. “Although sometimes I think…well, nevermind. Come on, I am sure they are waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have gotten such wonderful comments and so many more kudos than I thought I would. Thank you all very much! I am going to try to keep a weekly posting, so stay tuned for the next chapter! <3


	4. Chapter 4

“Stealing some alone time, eh Inquisitor?” Varric laughs as we come to the clearing. The Inquisitor smacks the dwarf upside the head, playfully, and dumps the wood in a haphazard pile, before turning to his horse and pulling his bags off the poor beast.

For all his favors, the poor man has a few faults. He is reckless, foolish, and doesn’t think things through. I could tell that already. I carefully pile the kindling in a clear area of the camp, somewhat central with the tents that Cassandra is still finishing. Varric is seeing to preparing some sort of dinner, and Maxwell is lazily helping with the last tent. Solas is nowhere to be seen.

I focus on the small grass and dried leaves at the center of my twig nest. I focus, and feel the tingling warmth of magic pool and undulate. With a careful thought and restraint of the erotic sensations magic has, I will the grass to spark. In moments, the twigs are glowing a happy orange, and the process for building a proper fire continues with the logs.

“Impressive.” Varric says, setting up to cook some meat. “Usually mages just kinda throw fire at it and hope it doesn’t explode.”

“Sounds careless and needlessly showy.” I reply, adding another medium sized log to the fire. “Plus, this makes for a longer lasting, consistent fire, rather than one that will burn out in an hour.”

There are a few minutes of silence between the dwarf and I. The fire is catching nicely, and the sun has dipped below the horizon. Maxwell and Cassandra take a seat near the fire, and Solas returns with a handful of elfroot. “So, I have a small request,” I sigh, and scratch my scalp. “Since I do not have any memory of a name…I was hoping that we could come up with one.“

“A name? I am sure you could find better sources than we are.” Cassandra adds, taking a sip of from a waterskin. “But, I am sure there are a few that would suit you.”

“Wouldn’t Chuckles be better at this? Being an elf and all, he’d know the more elfy names.” Varric adds, his attention still focused on food preparation.

“Perhaps she has no wish for, as you say, an ‘elfy’ name.” Solas says, as he stashes away the herbs in one of his bags.

“I just don’t know that we could be of any real help, sorry my dear.” Maxwell sighs.

“Well, think about it, if something pops up, just let me know.” I try to sound cheery about it, but really, it is disappointing. I was hoping that they would have some idea. Even Varric doesn’t have a nickname for me yet.

Supper is served with lighthearted discussion on travel, and watch is assigned, of which I am excluded. I am directed to a tent, where Cassandra and I will be sleeping, and I reluctantly retire to my bedroll. Cassandra has first watch, and she starts pacing slowly, circling the swiftly dwindling fire. Surprisingly, I feel the tug of sleep pull at my consciousness before long, and I am lulled into a peaceful sleep.

_I am once again in the elaborate white stone garden. It is dark, once again, but peaceful. There are no decorative lamps, no music, and no guests to bombard my peace. The grass is soft beneath my body, and I am hesitant to sit up._

_Again, I wear the white dress, but the mask is gone. There is a decanter of wine and a goblet on a small try beside me, nestled in the grass. Cole is sitting at my feet, a spritely smile on his lips. “Hello.” I greet. “What a pleasant surprise. Will you be giving me good dreams tonight too?”_

_“Yes. Mabye. Why?” He asks, petting the grass._

_“I enjoyed the last one. That is why.” I laugh, and pour myself some of the wine. “Why are you here, my dear friend?”_

_His smile widens. “Friend. Yes. To help. You want a name; something that makes you, you, to them.”_

_“That would help me. It would make me very happy.” I sip the wine, and relish the sweet liquor._

_“I heard a name, lost, lingering, longing for a face, a face behind the mask…” he’s fidgeting with his fingers again. I wonder if this is his way of avoiding eye contact, or its just a tic. “Saeris, the dream that doesn’t end; dreaming, delving, discovering the face, the name behind the mask…”_

_Saeris. The unending dream. Yes, yes I think I like it._

_Cole smiles, and the world fades and mixes, blends into another part of the garden, and I am alone with the wine. I am below the willow tree, there is a hanging bench, lined with pillows waiting for me, a small table with another decanter of wine, with a second glass._

_This place is amazing. It would be perfect for a good book or three._

_I lay down, resting my head on the arm of the padded bench, when a book falls into my lap with a gentle slap. It was, to my surprise, a romanticized version of the history of the Evanuris; something equivocal to a fanfiction, filled with smutty chapters and fluffy romance. How the Fade could have come up with this…or Cole for that matter…._

_Someone clears their throat, and I look up to see the man from the party. He’s not wearing his mask, and his features are shadowed. He is young, beautiful, but his eyes…_

_“I do not wish to intrude. But may I join you?” he asks politely bowing, his long hair falling like silk from his shoulders._

_“Of course, you interrupted nothing.” I stammer, trying to regain some sort of composure._

_He wills some large cushions to form beside the table, out of range of the bench I am still laying on, and opens a large tome he had carried with him. I sit up, and with what grace I could, poured the other glass of wine, and knelt down to hand it to him. “I thank you. You are too kind.” He smiles, and again his eyes trap me for a moment too long, I can feel my ears grow warm and my cheeks heat up._

_I discard the racy novel and pick up another book, which had appeared beneath the bench. We read, in silence for some time, before I feel the sun warming my eyelids, and I am pulled gently out of slumber._

I wake to Cassandra adjusting the buckles of her armor, and the sunlight pouring through a small hole in the fabric of the tent, right into my eyes. “Do you make a habit of talking in your sleep?” She asks, her back turned to me.

My face immediately feels hot. “I…I talk in my sleep?” I ask, pulling on the tunic and pants I wore yesterday as quickly as possible.

“You asked Cole some mumbled questions, and repeated ‘Saeris’.” She offered me a hand up, which I took, bouncing to my feet.

“I had a dream, Cole helped me with a name.” I answered, which was, in and of itself, true. “Saeris is the name he chose.”

“It is a beautiful name.” Cassandra said, “I am sure the rest will want to know, and we need to get back on the road as soon as we can. I feel a storm coming, and we’ll need to make as much progress as we can before it hits.”

“Understood. I’ll be out in a few.”

In record time, tents were packed, gear reassembled, and the horses readied. It was early enough that most people said little, aside from Cassandra and myself. We talked lightly about books, and I asked many questions on her fighting style. She was, after a while, much more open to talk, although it did take some time and several sighs on her part.

Breakfast was a simple affair, and eaten on the road. I insisted on taking the reins first, so that Solas could eat, and did not let him discuss the matter. He seemed rather annoyed at me actually, but in the end he did hand the leather reins to me, and snacked on some dried fruit and meats in silence.

By noon the storm hit. And within minutes we were all soaked to the bone. The rain did little to relieve the mood of the party, and unlike the day before, we spoke little. The rain was hard, cold, and unrelenting, and we ended up stopping early to escape the storm in a small inn.

“We have two rooms. He says they were full up.” Varric announces to us, as we sit in soggy silence around a small table in the tavern connected to the inn.

“Thank you, Varric.” The Inquisitor yawns. “It will do. For now, hot food and dry clothes sound best.”

Everyone was in agreement there, and before long, we were served a hot vegetable stew, crusty bread, and ale. Once fed, everyone seemed to lighten up, except Solas, who had seemed to retain his sour demeanor.

“So, any luck with the name thing?” Maxwell asks, shoveling another spoonful of stew into his mouth, dribbling a little of it down his unshaved chin.

“Oh, yes actually.” I reply. “I asked Cole to help me, and we found a name I like!”

“It is very fitting; I think she chose well.” Cassandra adds, sipping her ale.

“Well?” Maxwell coaxes.

“Saeris,” I smile. “Although, I suppose I don’t have a family name, or a clan name…”

“It is unnecessary, as you do not even have a vallaslin.” Solas notes. “No clan would take someone your age without one.” He sits with his back to the wall, hands folded in his lap, his stormy eyes fixated on me.

“I suppose you are correct,” I sigh, “And you seem to have done well enough with just Solas, and if I am half as successful I’ll count myself lucky.”

Maxwell clears his throat. “Well then, Saeris, since we will be arriving in Crestwood tomorrow, what should we know?”

Right, working now. “I am assuming the visions are true, but I expect some deviations. Small changes snowball into larger ones. I do not know how different things will become later.” I start, and drum up any memory I could on the quest-line in Crestwood. “When we get there, it’s going to be a whole lot like this.” I say, waving to the storm outside. “There is a rift in the lake, in a ruin beneath the old village that was flooded during the blight.”

Should I mention the mayor being the person responsible for flooding the old village, regardless if it was in order to prevent the blight from spreading? “The village and surrounding areas have been bombarded by undead, which have been rising from the lake as a result of the rift.”

Varric sighs, “Great, undead and demons. We are in for a treat.”

“Is that all?” Cassandra asks finally. “You look as if there is more to say.”

I look at the party, and down to my hands. “We are here to locate Hawke’s friend from the Wardens, yes?” Maxwell nods, but indicates that I should keep that fact quiet. “Well, there will be other wardens looking, and they are not going to stay and help with the undead problem.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound terrible. We’ve dealt with worse.” Maxwell sighs, finishing off his ale. I hand him the rest of mine. “Any other tidbits we should know?”

“There is one thing, concerning the flood I would like not to add, until I am certain.” I really don’t want to implicate the man, if he truly didn’t do it, and since I don’t know how different it will be…

“Seems fair.” Varric yawned. “On that delightful note, I am going to turn in. Wake me if we’re doing watch rotations,” he waves and walks away yawning into his spare hand.

“I think that watch rotations seem excessive.” Maxwell says yawning. “Just lock the door. You ladies sleep well, I am going to retire as well.”

“I suppose I should as well.” Solas announces, walking away rather quickly. It is odd that he is so quiet now; even more quiet than he usually is in the game. I wonder what is going on?

Cassandra and I stay up only a little longer in our shared room, as she helps me brush through my waterlogged hair by candle light. “The Inquisitor seems quite…taken with you.”

“Does he? He is friendly, I’ll give him that.” I answer, wincing as she pulls apart a rather matted section of hair. “Really, he is much too reckless. He seems to go on impulse rather than thinking things through.”

“He does. That is obvious.” Cassandra hums. She finishes brushing and tightly braids my hair. “But he is a good man. Men like him are difficult to come by.”

I chuckle, imagining what the two of them would look like together. “Why, do I detect a little bit of admiration for the man?”

“Of course. He is a dear friend, and there is much to admire about him. Not many could bear the weight of all peoples in Thedas.” Cassandra stands, removing her armor and preparing for bed.

“That is not what I meant, Cassandra. I meant that you are interested in him romantically.”

She gasps, and blushes horribly. “I-I most certainly am not! He lacks romance, finesse, the…gentle…” I am trying my best to hold back the chuckle, and she lets out a frustrated huff. “Oh, never mind. Utter a word of this to anyone, and you’ll be sorry.”

“You have my word, Cassandra.” I chuckle, removing my tunic and trousers and sling them over a chair to dry overnight. “Sweet dreams, Seeker.”

~*~

We are on the road by the time the sun would have been up. It is still storming, but we gear up and head out. I am sluggish, and feel like I had not slept at all; and I can’t seem to remember what I had seen in the fade the night before. Flashes of memory, glimpses of past thoughts, emotions, sensations lost to the waking world plagued my thoughts as I climbed into the saddle and bundled up against Solas’ warm chest. He smells like old books and dried herbs; my mind wanders, soaking in the scent of his tunic, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing, and I wonder just what kind of man he truly is.

We reach the Inquisition camp outside of the village a few hours later. Poor Scout Harding looks drenched, but no less chipper than the dwarf woman usually is. “Inquisitor, I am glad you can make it.” She greets as we dismount. This time, Solas dismounts with a simple grace only a well-practiced elvhen could manage, and helps me from the hart. Really, I could have managed myself, but he was persistent, even without asking.

The scout debriefed us as to the situation in Crestwood; as predicted, rift in the lake, undead attacking the village, and of course, the non-stop rain. We make our way toward the village, and there, two wardens are fending off some undead from a villager, just as it was in the game. Boring, but at least it lends some to my credibility.

We make our way to the village, and, as I had remembered, there was an ongoing attack at the gate. I admit, I had many expectations of the world, but fighting undead proved something I had not considered; the smell is absolutely grotesque. It smelled like rotting meat that had been sitting in a water-filled garbage can for a week. As my companions unsheathed their weapons, I let loose my stomach contents. Solas patted my shoulder, a look of pity on his face, before joining the fray.

Watching them fight in person was extraordinary. Cassandra was so precise in her movements that I was thankful she was there, in that I was certain she would strike no person in her party. Varric, although mumbling about the rain in his eyes, had a deadly shot, and I have never seen a crossbow so fast to load in my life. Maxwell, was strong, he was not graceful like Cassandra, but the ferocity in which he wielded his blade and shield would intimidate many an army. Lastly, there was Solas; his movements mimicking the dancing of the elvhen in my dreams, rehearsed, fluid, intentional—with no muscle moving without purpose. He flung spell after spell from that staff, shielding our comrades, pummeling undead with ranged strikes that flew from the staff with homing-missile accuracy.

Then I saw one that they had missed, it lumbered toward me, and for a moment I froze. I had no armor, no weapons, and they were busy defending the village. Then the tingling waves of mana pooled in my core, I could feel them bubbling to the surface of my skin, and my fingers twitched with an almost electric anticipation.

The creature, once a woman lunged for me, and a barrier of pure white energy shielded the blow. I willed a force of energy to push her back, and the blast sounded almost like a sonic boom, sending the zombie into a boulder. I held back the force that welled in me, focusing it as best I could on the target at hand, even though I could feel it want to explode from me. I focused my energy, my will, my magic, into one powerful blow, I could feel the threads of magic pulling from the Fade, energizing me, fueling my focus, and I let it loose; a massive collection of what I could describe no better than Fade-debris slammed down, practically exploding the corpse on impact.

The power, it was undeniable. I had it, I knew it, it was me; yet it was terrifying. I looked at my hand, arcs of magic still dancing over the skin’s surface, my eyes water. I never wanted this much power, and with how strongly it wanted to be freed…Maybe I was possessed.

“Damn, kid.” Varric said, coming up to me, eyeing the mangled corpse on the ground. “I almost feel sorry for the…never mind, I don’t.”

“Impressive. You’re far more talented than I had been led to believe.” Solas adds, coming up to me. I shake the tears that were welling in my eyes, and shove the fear to the recesses of my mind.

“Thank you. It was only one. I feel I overreacted a little, actually.” I admit, joining Maxwell and Cassandra, who were talking with the gate guards.

Do all mages feel like this? Is this where the mage towers would force the Harrowing, so I would be possessed, and put down like some rabid dog? The sparks of magic still coursed in my veins, alive, resisting my repression. Was the connection with the Fade so strong with other mages? Did it vary?

Questions riddle my mind as I follow my party to the mayor’s house. I must have had a troubling look on my face, despite my attempts to mask it, as Solas looked my way, his eyes asking if I was ok. I smiled weakly and followed everyone inside the wooden structure.

As in the game, the mayor acted suspiciously. He begged for help with the undead, but was reluctant to hand over the key to the mechanism to release the water from the damn, keeping the lake at bay. I had hoped it wasn’t the case, that in this world, maybe the blighted darkspawn had caused the flood, but as it stood, the mayor was too likely a suspect. The rest of my party behaved as if nothing had been amiss, and I resolved to inform them after we made it to the rift.

The dam mechanism was held in an old fort, which had, with the appearance of the storm, undead, and rift, become occupied by a group of rather ruthless bandits. It took some time to fight through the thugs, and many of my comrades had to take a hit for me during the skirmishes. Unbeknownst to my friends, I was battling myself, while flinging fire and ice, shielding and repelling; the magic was trying to escape my reins. At the end, however, the Inquisition held the fort, and we were able to get the lake emptied.

Harding along with a handful of scouts set up camp, and began to extricate the dead from the fort. I did my part to heal the party, Solas being close to out of mana by then, and we restocked supplies and headed to the caves beneath Old Crestwood.

I led them through the dilapidated, and waterlogged abandoned village, and into the caves. Figures of mist and energy, glowing an eerie orange floated about, circling us, calling to us. I could hear their voices, barely whispers in the echoing caves. They begged us to help, to make it stop, “It is too loud”, they hurt. Why could I hear them? They were silent in the game, why do they speak?

“Go down; they are crying for help.” I choke, the pain they feel echoing in my heart. “The spirits, they do not want to be here.”

Solas studies me with a careful gaze, and his expression falters just a little; he knows what I feel. We follow the rickety pathway down into the belly of the caves. The Veil is so thin here, the magic that threatens to run rampant in me ignites with new fervor. Just in time too, as we come up against a handful of undead, and a spirit I knew to be a despair demon.

This battle was short, in comparison. The undead fell quickly, and with Cassandra taking the brunt of the demon’s attacks, I was able to stand at a safe distance and let the flames of my will ignite that demon until there remained nothing but smoldering ash.

We searched the area, and as the game had shown, beyond this cavern, nestled in a small alcove, several skeletons lay, bundled, holding each other as if huddled in fear. “They were living here.” I whisper. “They were forced here by the mayor during the blight. He kept them away from anyone else, in order to prevent the spread of the disease.” I look solemnly at Maxwell, who is inspecting debris. “The part I did not mention before, is that the mayor is the one who flooded the village ten years ago. When we return to town, he will be gone, leaving a letter of admission in his stead.”

“He did this? It is horrible, but if it saved the village…” Cassandra sighed. I nodded, and we departed in silence.

Down we descend into the remains of a dwarven settlement. Large, sharp edged rooms and alcoves, pillars and doorways carved into the living stone, lit by some unknown dwarven technology, which cast a yellow-orange light onto everything. We stumbled onto several artifacts, and eventually found ourselves up against a large room aglow with the distinctive green light I had known from the game.

It occurred to me then, that I had not seen the Anchor on Maxwell’s hand; he had yet to use it in my presence, and I was intrigued to see it in action.

The room was filled with demons. It seemed like forever, dodging ranged bolts from the green misty wraiths, deflecting and defending against the skeleton-covered-in-puss-laced-leather looking terror demons, before the rift was cleared enough for Maxwell to do his thing.

A flash of green light exploded from his left hand, a stream of pure energy connecting it to the rift. His face grimaced, and he strained against the force. Finally, a reverberating SNAP, and the rift was closed, leaving only a puddle of luminescent goo on the soggy stone floor.

“Wow.” I mutter, watching the Inquisitor stride for me, face full of confidence and a foolish pride I could only laugh at. “That was interesting, Inquisitor.” I laugh. “Seeing it with my own eyes is bringing up so many questions.”

“I’d love to, my dear Saeris,” He grins, sheathing his sword and picking up some remnants of a wraith corpse from the floor, “just as soon as we are out of this soggy death hole.”

There are no complaints there. With the rift gone, we make haste, following a path of fresh air blowing in from one of the upper passage ways. Before long, we are on the surface again, and the sun has emerged.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who gave me such wonderful comments: Thank you! You have given me a boost in writing motivation! I was not expecting such a warm response. I spend a lot of time on these chapters, and it makes me so happy that it is appreciated.
> 
> <3


	5. Chapter 5

Finding Hawke and his friend was quick and painless. Hawke is just as silly and carefree as Varric had described him, and he was terribly excited to meet me, for some odd reason. The friend, a warden by the name of Stroud, told us to meet him in the Western Approach.

Stroud, a proud, middle aged man with dark hair and facial hair, told us that the wardens were performing some sort of ritual using the forbidden form of magic that utilizes blood from a living source, in order to combat the darkspawn and kill the archdemon dragons before they wake.

It is a foolish plan, even for the desperate. Being here in person, I had to fight the urge to scream at the heavens because of how frustratingly ignorant the wardens were being with such a plan. Of course I had known, and had tried to tell Maxwell about this problem, that the wardens were being controlled, slowly turned into mindless thralls of Corypheus, but he was too optimistic to believe me until Stroud broke the news to him.

There was the itching feeling that the mayor may not be guilty, right up until we knocked and entered the house of the former mayor. On the desk, sat the poorly written letter of guilt. Cassandra immediately sent scouts to search for the man, but he had near a day’s head start. After helping the village citizens as much as possible, we retired to the local inn, tired, and damp.

I did not want to sleep. The feeling that my power had a mind of its own would not leave me. As the rest of my companions bid good night and retired to their rooms, I alone remained. At first I was content staring into the depths of my mug, watching the ripples my breath and the shake of my hands created on the surface of the ale. The magic within tugged at me, pulled, pushed, tried to sway my resolve. I did not know what it wanted, this force within me, just that it wanted.

After a time, I found myself sitting outside, watching the stars in silence. I wondered if I should consult the numerous other mages with the Inquisition.  Would they assume I had become possessed? I did not want to be killed, much less made tranquil. Surely the Inquisitor would not allow it…right?

“You need sleep, da’len.” Solas said quietly, draping my cloak over my shoulders. “We leave tomorrow for Skyhold.”

“I am sorry, Solas. I cannot sleep. Too much on my mind.” I admit, tugging the cloak tight, hoping the warmth will lend to making my mind still.

“I suspected as much. You have been rather quiet.” I get the distinct impression he is searching for words to say. It seems odd, for the one who has millennia stored in his memory, that he would not know what to say to me. “If you wish, perhaps we could speak, inside, where it is warm.”

Question answered I suppose; Solas would be the one to talk to about coming into magic suddenly. I nod, and follow the elf inside. The tavern is closing down, so we retire to the rooms. There had been two, once again, and, for some reason, even Cassandra had gone to sleep in the room with the Inquisitor and Varric, leaving the second unattended. With a glance at the candles, I light them with a thought, and the small room becomes dimly lit. Solas’s books are sitting neatly at the foot of one of the beds, and I sit on the other as he rummages through his bags. “I sense you are concerned, and that it is related to magic.” He says, producing a pad of paper and some charcoal. “You seem more and more distracted with each use.”

“I am fine,” I lie. “I am sure I am just not used to battle.”

“You are a talented mage, and a terrible liar.” Solas notes, not looking up from the paper. He begins to sketch, bringing his legs up onto the bed, to brace the back of the paper. “I saw you in battle today; never have I witnessed a mage with the indomitable focus you so easily possess. You did not hesitate, and your spells hit their targets with perfection. So I ask again, what is it that troubles you, da’len?”

I am staring at the candle flame. The fire changes shape, turning into a dancing figure, I hear the song from my dream, the rhythmic thrum of music, the tingle of mana pooling in the core of my stomach. “I do not know. It feels…stronger that I expected.”

He doesn’t respond, I look to him, and he is busy sketching. “The ease of which I can call upon the Fade…it is too easy, Solas. I have no training; I have not studied even simple books and lessons until I arrived. Magic simply is.”

“Once, our people were said to possess such magic. It was said our magic was as natural as breathing.” Solas paused, glancing at me a moment before continuing. “Perhaps you have kin closer to our ancient heritage.”

“It is as likely as any other avenue of thought.” I look at my hands, I can still see brief flecks, flashes of magic on the skin. “I am afraid I will not be able to contain it. It wants to be free of me.”

“There is little harm in it, da’len.” Solas discards the page he had started and begins anew. “As long as you are able to resist the demons that will already be attracted to you.”

“I am not possessed now? Can you be certain?” I ask.

“No, you are not.” His answer is quick, and he soon discards this paper too. “You are an exceptional mage. Your wisdom and selflessness are beyond compare.”

What is he saying? I am not an abomination, just really good? What kind of rubbish is that? Focus, calm, he is trying to help. I pull magic into my palm, and I create a small rabbit of electricity, have it hop about my hand, “Thank you, Solas.”

Solas watches me as I focus on my magic. His eyes do not leave me; I feel them as the rabbit turns into a halla of ice, then a dancing maiden of fire. My fire turns to pure spirit energy, white, wispy, forming itself into a new shape, that of a small wolf, it bounces from my palm, to the bed beside me. Part of me hopes he finds my magical musings interesting; my cheeks grow warm with the thought of our magic blending together to create something bigger, newer.

I am staring at it, thinking about the way a wolf moves, the color of the eyes, the texture of its fur, when I sense another magic. Beside my wolf, another appears. This wolf is dark gray, like smoke, eyes shining like sun through clouds.

The magic is familiar, and I look up to see Solas focused carefully on his creation, a small smile just breaching his lips. His wolf approaches mine, and they circle each other, it reminds me of a dance. The gray wolf pounces, nips, chases the white, playfully entertaining me. Finally his stops, lays down on the surface of the bed, and appears to fall asleep. It is sweet, and I have mine curl beside his, and sleep. They both dissipate in a breath, and I look to my roommate.

“It has been some time since I had the company of someone at my own level. I hope you can come to trust me, and can come to me if you ever need guidance.” He says.

He is serious. And I am calm, comfortable, collected. Regardless if he is the Dread Wolf, right now, he is safety. My heart skips a beat, and butterflies fill my stomach. A strange feeling arises in my soul; I would give my all to save him.

Save him from himself.

“I think, perhaps, I should try to sleep.” I mutter finally, pulling off my boots. He agrees, and removes his robes, and, to my surprise, his tunic, leaving him bare-chested, his back to me. My mouth is watering, my mind not in control of the warmth that is gathering within me. This time, it is not magic that is turning me on. I watch him fold his tunic, and gently set it on his bags, and I tear my eyes away in time for him to bid me good night, and with the wave of his hand, the candle extinguishes.

_The Fade forms into a massive room, domed, crafted from white stone; painted murals decorate the walls, and billowing soft fabric hangs from the French-door looking windows. Heavy wooden shelves line the walls and section off the room, each shelf filled with tomes, scrolls, artifacts, and parchment. It is a wondrous sight. I practically skip to the first shelf, running my fingers down the spines of large tomes, reading the titles._

_I am wearing something different this time; a velvet coat-like overdress, high collared, in a deep sapphire blue, buttoned with silver buttons at the bust. It is open over a soft white underdress. My hair is done up, tendrils dancing off my face and neck as the breeze shuffles through the library._

_One tome sticks out, and I lift it carefully from the shelf. It is a book about the Fade, particularly the connection between it and the waking world. It is clearly a book from ancient times, as it makes no reference to the Veil. It references another book in regards to spirits, and I pull that one too, and before long, I am seated in the center of the room, surrounded in heavy, dusty, wonderful books._

_After I have exhausted those lines of thought, I stand, the books disappearing in a blink, and I search for a new one. I am so focused on reading titles, my head tilted, and my lips forming the words, that I do not notice my elvhen friend at the end of the row until I run into him._

_There is something familiar about him, in that moment that I am a breath’s distance from his chest, but I cannot place it._

_“Hello again,” He smiles, taking my hand and kissing the same knuckles as he had before. “I am glad you can join me.”_

_He is handsome, wearing something like a light weight tunic, partially opened at the neck, leggings and foot-wraps. His hair is tied up in a somewhat messy sort of bun at the base of his skull. He must be very comfortable._

_“I am terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you,” I stammer, my heart racing, and a long forgotten feeling of butterflies in my stomach distracting my focus on forming normal conversation._

_He laughs, warm, comforting. My cheeks instantly blush, “I was so focused on the books…”_

_“Saeris, dear Saeris…” He smiles. “I was as much at fault; I was distracted watching you and forgot to announce myself.”_

_Watching me? “Why would you…I am certainly not interesting enough for you, my lord.”_

_He takes my hand, and leads me from the section I was looking at, to a seating area at the far end of the hall, covered in plush pillows. “On the contrary, Saeris, there has been little to interest me here for some time. I came here to visit with you.”_

_I sit, mesmerized by his voice. His eyes are kind, wise, but excited and glittering with a curiosity and admiration I had never seen in a man before. I should be more careful, maybe it’s a demon. But it doesn’t feel like it. Something in my thoughts strains, a ripple of familiarity coursing just beyond my consciousness. Who is he? Just a spirit, I suppose; a memory long forgotten by the waking world. If he were alive, he would be the ultimate distraction. I would be unable to do anything else._

_He hands me a goblet of wine, and sits rather close to me; I can feel the heat radiate from him. “What is it that you seek here, my little dream?” he grins, and sips his wine, his stormy sky eyes unwavering, staring at my very soul._

_“I-I seek nothing in particular.” My face is growing warmer. My ears are on fire, I can feel it. I must look like a nervous schoolgirl. “Learning is important, and this—“ I indicate the library, “Is a wondrous start! Never had I imagined such a place existed, even in the Fade.”_

_“Beautiful AND wise? You are a rare spirit, Saeris.” He never takes his eyes off me. I can tell there is something deeper, repressed within the man. It felt almost raw, tamed, but only just; energy behind those eyes, behind the scent of herbs and old books that lingered on his shirt. “I can show you many things, but at a cost.”_

_I swallow another healthy sip of wine, my throat suddenly dry. “A cost, my lord?”_

_“Please, we are alone here, there is no need for titles,” the man places his glass on a small table, and sits upright, closing the distance between his face and mine. I stop breathing._

_“Knowledge, for knowledge, Saeris.” He whispers, his eyes darting over my face. “An exchange; you know much I do not, and I would be honored to learn from you.”_

_Have mercy on my poor soul, it is so hard to resist. What Solas said in the game was true, things are much easier in the Fade; and if this was a demon, I needed to be away, and quickly._

_“I will think on it.” I answer finally, inhaling for the first time. “I am certain we will run into each other again soon.”_

_His hand reaches up and brushes a hair from my face, and for a moment, I think of Solas’ eyes that are so similar to this man, they could be kin. “We will, I will make sure of it.”_

_I wasn’t sure if that was a promise, or a threat._

~*~

The trip to Skyhold was graciously uneventful. Again, people passed time with idle banter; Solas and I talked for hours, effortlessly conversing in common and elvhen, much to the annoyance of our companions who did not understand the language. All topics were covered, from the Veil, the Fade, history, music, magic, mages, art, and every other subject of substance. It was exciting and a comfort to have someone to talk to, and not believe I am crazy or possessed.

By the time we returned, I am sure everyone was tired of my chatter. Maxwell was obviously tired, and he, followed by Cassandra, retired to debrief the council. Varric invited us to the tavern to play cards, and Solas declined, saying he had studies to attend to. “I need a bath and I think I need to figure out means of getting myself outfitted; I cannot allow others to take the hit for me every battle.”

“Good point; you owe me a shirt, by the way.” Varric smiled. “And I am sure you need to get some training in with a staff. I am sure Chuckles can help with that too.”

“Varric!” I glare, resisting the blushing. I have got to get that under control.

“Just stay out of trouble, kid.” He waves and heads to his room.

“Well, I suppose I should be off as well,” I pick up my backpack, and head toward the gardens. “Perhaps we could meet later? I need more book recommendations.”

“Of course, da’len.” The elf smiled. “I am certain you know where to find me, when you wish.”

I nod, and head to my room, with the feeling that he watches me until I turn the corner and stone bars his sight.

_Darkness. The lack of any and all existence. I am surrounded by the lack of everything. It is nothing, it is nameless, shapeless. It is me, and nothing else._

_Somewhere I hear the echoes of my pain, distant, disembodied. There is the sound of fire raging, Her voice calming me. Echoes sounding like I am hearing them under water._

_“Show him, there is good, beauty, magic still in this world…” Her voice hummed, loud, clear. “Guide him from his destruction, his plan will kill him.”_

_How? He barely speaks to me now. How to show him the beauty in this world, when I do not know it myself?_

_“You will find it, together.”_

_Until the Fade, I was not sure beauty exited anymore. It had been stripped from me. My family, my heart, and now my identity._

_“Those memories, dark, and distant, will fade away. He will be your salvation, as you will be his, child.”_

_Solas._

_His face, his body, bent, crying, broken, shaking in shock. His hand resting on an eluvian, and he cries out a name, but it is only silence. I want to comfort him. It will be ok, my friend, you are not alone._

_A girl, it was me once, crying, shaking, broken, held by that woman, the Mother of All. Fires lick the road, her screams fall silent._

_A woman—that girl grown up, watching as her lover takes another to bed. He didn’t know she was home. He didn’t know it hurt. She left her heart there, shattered on the floor. She had been selfish, she tried to stop the hurt with alcohol. Mother of All stopped her again, held her._

_Mother of All gave me a reason, a choice. I help her, I look beyond myself. But I want to forget all of the pain. I want those faces gone from my mind, from my thoughts. It is a deal. I help her, she helps me. There is no room for failure._

_Nothingness. Empty, dry, nameless, shapeless nothing. All I know, all I remember, “You made a promise, child. I have given you life, and now you will repay it.”_

~*~’ 

Accidental napping hazard. Good to know travel does that. Or maybe it was the prospect of a decent bed? Whatever it was, I wake with the afternoon sun disappearing behind clouds. A storm will be in by the evening.

The memory of my brief dream still lingered. I no longer knew the faces in the fire, or the man that had hurt me, but I knew the voice; Mythal had given me a task. She saved me from myself, and now I must save her friend from himself.

I wash up as best I can, brush out my hair, and for the first time since I arrived at Skyhold, I behold myself in a mirror. My face is still fair skinned and heart-shaped, sharp, defined jaw and cheek ones, with elongated ears characteristic of my new race peeking out from the locks of dark golden strands that fall down to my waist. I watch my eyes, they almost glow a pale aquamarine, they are quick, sharp.

After changing I make my way into the main hall of Skyhold. It is hard to ignore the staring and murmured whispers as I enter. I feel sorry for the Inquisitor, having so many prying eyes and loose lips in his proximity at all times.

Varric is not at the table he usually sits at in the game. So I continue through the first door on the right, into the rotunda that Solas has set up as his office.

He has painted a few paneled murals. The colors are far more bright and alive than I had expected. The elf, however, was not there. Strange, I guess I had never considered that he did not sleep here, although it was a bit early to sleep. The echo of voices surrounded the room, and I climbed the stairs to the second floor.

This was entirely library. Several mages in their robes roamed the alcoves, noses stuck in tomes and scribbling away notes. This, I suppose, is as good a place to start as any.

In the game, Dorian should be in one of the alcoves, but the handsome Tevinter is nowhere to be seen. Since the Tevinter had lived alongside the elves in the north, perhaps they would be a good place to start, and I am sure Dorian would have long since hogged the entirety of magisterium related reading to his little section. I needed information, I needed history.

Now if only I had managed to be made a little taller. The book I need is on the top shelf, and despite my stretching, my slender fingers barely touch the bottom of the spine. “You know, there are many young men who would love to help such a distinguishing woman.” A smooth voice says, and a toned, tanned arm reaches over my head, taking the book down from its resting place.

“Dorian! Oh, there you are!” Maxwell comes up the stairs in a huff. “How dare you leave me alone with that…oh, Saeris, I did not see you.”

“Hello Maxwell. Debriefing go well?” I greet as Dorian hands me the book.

“As well as expected. Then Dorian insisted I try on more ‘fashionable clothes’ and left me with the WORST woman from Orlais.”

“Stop whining, nobody likes a baby.” Dorian laughs.

“You must be Dorian,” I say with a bow. “Since my host will not do it, I am Saeris.”

“Hey now, why are you ganging up on me now?” Maxwell laughed. “Yes yes, Dorian, Saeris, Saeris, Dorian. Mage-y stuff, magic, wiggly fingers and whatnot.”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance.” Dorian bows. Our darling Inquisitor speaks of little else.”

Maxwell throws his hands up in mock exasperation, and mumbled something as he slowly makes his way down the staircase.

He really is as charming and handsome as he is in the game. It is a shame he is gay, I’d totally go for some ‘vint. “Ah, Dorian, since you are here, perhaps you could help me.”

“Of course, my dear.” He replies with a grin.

“Well, you seem to be the resident expert on Tevinter, I need history.” I tuck this tome under my left arm.

His eyes perk up a little, and he folds his arms in skepticism. “How much?”

I smile. “All of it.”


	6. Chapter 6

For the next couple weeks, I spent time with Dorian in the library after supper; I pored over tomes, parchments, maps, decoded symbols misinterpreted by the Tevinter scholars, translated text from notes of archeologists, who had been unable to understand the old elvhen script, and accumulated many paper cuts. Dorian was helpful, and once he understood what I was looking for, he was able to suggest more material to look into. I had told him I was researching the ancient kin for some theory I had about the elven pantheon, and in turn, that is what he told anyone else who asked after me, as I busied myself by candlelight.

I searched for all references to ancient elves. I wanted to know how they lived, how they thought, the lives they lived; if I understood them on a very fundamental level, perhaps I could understand the magic they wove, and therefore…

My head throbbed. For all of their boasting, the ‘Vints were lousy historians; they cared more for their image than the history. Lacing together threads of half-truths took more time and energy than I could muster, and I often saw the first glimmer of sunlight peek through the windows of the library before I’d be able to lay my head down to sleep.

“It is late, da’len,” Solas interrupted, my eyes watering from staring at the current book for too long. “Even Dorian has retired; your pursuit certainly is less important than your health.”

“Thank you Solas, but I believe that is for me to determine.” I yawn, stretching my neck from side to side. The sharpness of my remark does not escape me, but I am simply too tired to care.

I gather my notes, shelf the book I had been analyzing, and head to the door. I have a list of spells to research, and I feel so close to a breakthrough that I need to get started soon. Solas stands, an obvious expression of disapproval on his face, arms folded in front of him. “Da’len, you will accomplish nothing if you do not rest.” He scowls.

“I am not your ‘da’len’ Solas. And I am very capable of taking care of my own needs.” I growl, trying to focus on not stumbling over my robes.

“Whatever it is you are working on, it is not as important as your health.” He calls as I open the door to the main hall.

“Then you should be asleep as well.” I stare back, my eyes straining against the call of sleep. “Good morning, Solas.”

I returned to my room, and although my bed was calling me with the sweetest of enticing voices, I changed my clothes into loose, warm robes, a hand-me-down from one of the circle mages, and headed, sleepless to the healers’ tents. With a steady influx of injured from the sprawling camps our organization had networked, there was always need for an extra set of hands, and the healers were always grateful for my appearance.

 Mother, older son in his teens, and a daughter, barely 6 years old are brought in on gurneys, covered in smoke, ash, blood and dirt. Medics in the field had done their best, but the mother, a woman barely older than I was, was not likely to survive. The little girl wept into her brother’s shoulder, as another mage tended to his broken body. She begged that her mommy be kept safe; to make her mommy better.

_“I am sorry, I cannot save them.”_

_Her_ voice, echoing in my mind. Shake it, take it; the pain will make you strong! I cannot let that child fall like I had. My energy willing the magic within me to new heights; it surged, sang in me, and out to my fingertips, and down, into the woman. Her breath caught, bubbled and spat blood, yet I worked. More, more more! Mend, mold, make new, I coax magic into her. She is bleeding too much. Her heart is too fast. Infection is deep, it is in her blood. I cannot stop it.

She takes her last breath, and whispers the names of her children. Dead.

“Saeris…” Adan whispers over my shoulder, while my magic still trying to fix the broken. “Saeris, it is too late.” I look at the boy, he is trying to look strong, as he holds his little sister in a protective embrace, even while he himself lay broken.

Tears well in my eyes. “I am sorry. I could not save her.” I whisper.  

It was not the first death to come while I was healing and it will not be the last; but for now, I had to continue with my routine. I changed clothes, donning my newly fashioned battle robes and the clumsy, top-heavy staff and headed to the training grounds.

From mid-morning through the afternoon, I spent sparing; Cassandra and Cullen had devised a regimen for me, in order to sharpen my battle prowess. Cullen was often far gentler on me than Cassandra. The one thing I had learned since my return to Skyhold, was that I hated the Templar’s ability to nullify magic; it physically hurt, like my skin was being ripped off of my body. It took a lot of my energy, but slowly, after weeks of training, I was able to occasionally overcome their suppression. Needless to say, I felt terrible the day I knocked Cullen clear across the training grounds and into the wall. I spent the rest of that day mending his mangled shoulder, and trying not to look at him.

Today was especially trying. Perhaps it was my lack of sleep; perhaps it was the pain that still lingered with the image of that little girl, burned into the inside of my eyelids. Perhaps it was the snow, or the knowledge that we were to leave for the Western Approach in two days. Regardless, my patience was thin, my motivation even more so, and my control over my own magic was faltering.

“Again, Saeris.” Cassandra barked, returning to her starting position. I stand from where I had fallen, my legs and hands shaking. I did not want to do this. Before I could fully stand, she is charging at me again, and I am shield bashed down to the mud once more.

Calm, patient. Must stay…calm.

This time, I do not stand; I feel the heat of anger in my blood, the frustration of hours of beatings, trying to force just enough magic through to stop the pain. I felt it, the oceans of mana curling, crying, crawling, clawing at me, screaming ‘let me out’ deep within my soul. I watch my trainer as she backs away, to her mark where she would come at me again.

_Let it burn._

No. Calm. I must stay calm!

She charges, and, although I am able to kick a leg out of under her, I am unable to do anything else. Why? Why can’t I learn!? What is it that I am lacking in order to wield a blade, or even a lousy staff!?

“I think that is enough for today.” Cassandra says, panting lightly and sheathing her sword. “You have much to learn, but you are improving.”

Hah! My ass! Improving would mean I was no longer laying in the mud after weeks of practice! Improving would mean I would not have to heal broken wrists, arms, bruised flesh and swollen joints, rather than eating supper!

She helps me up, and pats my shoulder, then leaves me alone in the training yard. I watch her go, picking up the staff from the mud, and using it to carry my weight as I retire to my room.

I clean myself as best I could. I muster a spell to create water in my hands, running it in my hair, down into an empty pail, a spell I had figured out shortly after my return from Crestwood. Once cleaned, I turn to clean up my armor; with a soft brush I start to work at the drying mud in the leather before abandoning it. Magic pools in my hand, and with a thought, the robe are washed of mud and grime. At least this goes right today.

I go over my notes, open the most recent addition to my book acquisition, a study on elvhen magic. It is rubbish, but I force myself through the chapters, gleaning whatever relevant information I can from its idealized, biased, ancient-elven-gods-are-wonderful centralized rants. There is little of note, most of the ‘knowledge’ this book contains revolves around lore and fiction that the Keepers of modern clans had compiled.

It is sometime after dark when I rise and head to the library. Dorian, the sweetheart, gives me a gentle hug and bids me goodnight as I pass. I hand off the book to a Tranquil mage that was in charge of restocking research materials. On the table nearby, I spy a new study, written by the magister Alexius, who was now in service to the Inquisition. It dealt with time magic. I take it without asking, and return to my room.

It is too late to get food; I realize that I had not eaten since breakfast once I get to the stairs leading to the second story hall, where my room is located. I spy a dim light emanating from the window of Solas’ chambers—his actual sleeping chambers that is, which overlook the garden opposite my own room. What is he working on now? The shards of stone carvings? Painting—or the mixing of paint? Is he simply reading, or has he fallen asleep and left the light on.

Instead, I see him pacing in the garden below. He looks deep in thought; his hands folded carefully behind him, his step slow and careful, glancing at the flora about him without actually seeing anything.      

I notice the way he moved; it had changed over the past month. I knew him to be unyielding, but graceful, reserved—almost too reserved. In the game, he had always been borderline stiff, even in the romance cut scenes. Perhaps it was the graphics of the game, perhaps it was my memory of the game…

But now, he moved with such grace and purpose; his shoulders were not as tense, his eyes a little less strained, and his voice softer. He had a fluidity and beauty to his movements that seemed natural, like water over stone, or wind through leaves; he had no jerky movements. Even when he moved suddenly, it was swift, but not sharp. This behavior usually ended as soon as anyone else was in the vicinity. Part of me wondered if he was possibly showing interest in me.

No, certainly not. In the game, he was only interested after you made the first move, and, as far as I was aware, I had not. He must just be thankful that I can be closer to his level of intelligence and magical capacity. Solas is a lonely soul.

I want to go down and talk to him. I wonder if he would receive me warmly? Would he even show interest in any discussion with me? Sure, travel back from Crestwood was lively, and when I pass to the library he is keen to speaking with me. But I want to know more about him. I want to know the ‘him’ he is trying to be, and the ‘him’ he is running from. Would we talk like the characters from all of those fan-fictions I read before, or like the Inquisitor elf girl from the game? Would he speak with me about the encounters I’ve been having in the Fade, warn me or guide me? Would he offer to show me around, to ‘teach’ me how to shape the dreams as a somniari could?

No; I am merely another soul in his spectrum. Sure, I have an understanding of the world that is unique. My heart aches at the thought, but I am not blind; I am small in comparison. He must only be interested in what I know.

Yes, that must be it. I shouldn’t bother him then.

With a sigh, I return to my chamber, and close the door. I’ll need to get a new candle for tomorrow; this one has nearly burned out. I take out my notes, a quill and ink, and slowly address the report before me. Maybe this rogue magister could give me some insight.

~*~

I woke to the sound of talking outside of my door. The sun was already up, warming the back of my head. I had, at some point, fallen asleep, my forehead resting on my arms, sitting at my writing table. I remembered the candle finally dwindling out, and I could see the smoke still drifting off the wick.

I thought Cole was here last night, but I don’t remember when.

My body is so tired it takes a considerable effort to stand from the chair. I changed clothes, wearing whatever it was that I found clean first, and headed to the healers’ tent. I do what I can, but I am finding it hard to stay focused on a single task. Before long Adan sends me away, saying I would end up in one of the sickbeds if I did not shape up.

Shortly before midday, I receive a message that I am needed for a meeting in the War Room. As I arrive, Maxwell greets me, but I barely hear the words. He looks concerned. I wonder why? He talks about The Western Approach, the ruins where we are to meet Hawke and Stroud.

I remember. I hate this zone. It is a desert, lots of sand, hot, big teethy beasties, a whole zone with a pit of toxic gas that will need to be cleared before we can pass through, demony rifts, and a fort to capture. Oh yeah, the darkspawn have risen there. I hate the heat.

“I’ll be taking Saeris, Solas, Cassandra, and Varric.” Maxwell says, “It should take us just under a week to get there, if weather remains nice.”

“We will have soldiers ready, should you require them.” Cullen says, placing a marker at one of the camps in the zone. “And there will be a squad of Leliana’s men here,” he points to the map.

“There is one other matter, Inquisitor.” Josephine speaks up. “We are swiftly approaching the event at the Winter Palace, and you have not chosen uniforms yet.”

“Ah, well, go with whatever you think will work best.” Maxwell waves his hand. “Except…if any of the women choose to wear something equally appropriate, that will be fine as well. I’ll leave that up to you and Leliana.”

Josephine’s eyes dart to me in a way that I almost wonder if she is giggling on the inside. “As you wish, Inquisitor. I’ll send for tailors to arrive within the week.”

More talking. I tell them about the warden ritual. I do not remember the location anymore. That sucks. I tell them about Erimond, the ‘Vint that convinced the stupid wardens that it was a good idea to bind the mages in their ranks to demons and attack the darkspawn in the deep roads. Wardens with a demon army; how dumb can you get?

Finally, excused. I head for the stables. No, my mount has not arrived yet; the one they got was ‘temperamental’ and not suitable for me. Whatever that means. Adan fills my potion requests. He says I need to sleep, but what does he know. I have too much to do before I depart. The smith has finished a more balanced staff, and I hand him the one I had been using. Cassandra meets me in the practice yard and immediately tells me that we would not spar today, we need to focus on getting ready for the journey. She continues to practice with a dummy though.

Why is everyone babying me now? I am fine.

My eyes hurt, but I pack my bags. I can’t fit everything I need. Stupid bags. I try again, less fits this time. It is getting annoying. I turn the whole thing upside down, dumping everything onto my bed, and carefully pack everything in. It takes time, but I manage to fit the clothes, potions and bandages, my notes and books, towel/rag and soap for cleaning, a spare pair of boots, and a scarf for protection against the sun in the desert.

By then, it is supper. I am not hungry. I study one of the tomes on elven lore instead.

“Saeris, what in Maker’s name are you doing?” Maxwell is in my doorway, his arms folded, he is trying to be serious. “You look awful, my dear.”

“I am fine. Just haven’t slept well.” I say, looking back at the book, turning the page. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“You can eat, for starters.” He grumbled. “And then you can tell me about what will happen next.”

He leads me to the tavern, and sits me in front of a bowl of stew. I eat a few bites. I am not hungry. Even the smell is making my stomach turn.

“Erimond will have already started the ritual, but the biggest demon he saves for Clarel.” I say while idly stirring the contents of the bowl. “It is an ancient fear demon.”

He pushes the bowl closer to me; clearly he isn’t buying the ‘I am not hungry’ excuse. “Eat.”

I put a small chunk of potato in my mouth, chew and swallow. “Corypheus’s dragon will show up.” I push the bowl away. “Really, I am not hungry, Maxwell.”

“I need you at your best, Saeris. You’ll die at the rate you’re going.” The inquisitor hands me a warm roll. “Eat this and I’ll stop.” I rip a part of the bread off and eat it. He seems reluctantly content. “Solas said you had not eaten a full meal in days. Said you were up at all hours of the night. Even Dorian retires before you now.”

“I have a lot to do.” I say while chewing. “And not much time to do it in. If I am to save as many people as I can, then I need to know everything.” I finish the roll, and take a healthy swig of water from a goblet. Maxwell mimics my drink, but with ale instead. “On that note, you will have to make a choice in Adamant. You will have to leave someone behind. I want that to be me.”

“Are you serious? Not a chance.” He glares, now he is clearly unhappy. He is almost more attractive when he isn’t goofing around. “No one will be left behind, not you, especially.”

“I am not special, Inquisitor.”

He hated that. His brows furrow and nose crinkles at the title. “You are. You just don’t seem to know yet. You have already saved many, simply by being here, and on a purely numerical standpoint, it would be a detriment to the Inquisition to lose you now.”

Fine.

He looks worried, determined, distracted. “Who knows, maybe this one will be wrong.” I say, standing up to leave.

“You are going to sleep now, I hope.” He told me, eyes still sternly focused on me. “You cannot pull an all-nighter again, Saeris. We leave at daybreak.”

“Yes, Inqui—Maxwell.” I reply with a weak smile, and head to the library. No, I had no intention of sleeping right now, I am sorry Maxy.

“Saeris, don’t you dare climb those stairs!” Dorian calls from the second story. Solas looks up from the desk in the center of the rotunda, his hands covered in blue paint. “You are forbidden from coming up here.”

“Good evening.” Solas greets.

“Stuff it Dorian. I am no child.” I call up. “And good evening, Solas. Ready for tomorrow?”

“I am.” He replies simply, picking up the bowl of paint and a large brush, and heading to the panel he had begun. “And I will be retiring soon. You should as well. The trip will be long and you are likely not going to sleep well on the way.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” I mutter and climb the stairs. Dorian is there, blocking the top of the stairs, arms folded in clear disapproval. “Please Dorian, I just want something to read before bed.”

He hands me a book, spins me around and pushes me back down the stairs. I am lucky enough not to stumble or trip on my robe. “Good night, Saeris. I will be stopping by to make sure you ARE sleeping.” Dorian called.

I am no child.

_“I am sorry, I couldn’t save her…”_

_Face down, mud coating my arms, doubled pain throbbing in my shoulder, the shield had contacted again…I still failed._

Maybe they are right.

My room is dark, but I manage to light a small blue flame in the candle holder, enough to dimly light the room. “Doubled down, doubting, distant cries lost to fire and ash…”

Cole. Oh Cole. “Hello Cole.”

“It is not you. You need rest. They worry.” The spirit said, as I found him standing on top of the headboard, perched like some sort of monkey. “Worry will make them stop, make them doubt. It will hurt them too.”

“I know, Cole. I am trying.” I toss the book on my bed. “I am fine, Cole. Thank you.”

“I can make you sleep.”

“I am aware, but please do not.” I say. “I can sleep on my own.”

“But you are not.”

I sigh. “I will. I promise.”

He tilts his head, and disappears. I sigh, strip down to my smallclothes, and climb into bed. I open the first page. Dorian handed me a romance novel. It is _Swords and Shields_ , by Varric Tethras. Cassandra loves this series, and Varric will say it is the worst series he’s ever written. Ah, yes, Cassandra’s name written on the inside of the back cover. I suppose I should return this to her tomorrow.

As promised, my Tevinter friend opens my door, without knocking. I have barely enough time to pull the blankets up to cover my breasts before he enters. “Sleep! Do not put it past me to make you.” He wags his finger at me. “Seriously Saeris, you are heading into the field tomorrow, and I need my research partner back.”

“I am. I just want to read a little, then I’m out like a light.” I smile. “Promise.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but still places a chaste kiss on the top of my head before he turns and leaves with a yawn. Poor man, really he should stop acting so much like a mother hen. I am perfectly capable…

_“…I cannot save her…”_

No, shake that away, beat it from my thoughts; shove it away somewhere dark and forgotten. I have no time to dwell on it now. Now, I read.

It is gloriously awful, but I dare not put it down. My eyes grow heavy, as the chapters and hours fly by. Well, this should do it. I hope.

 

                                                            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A not super exciting chapter, but there we go.  
> Writing is slowing down a bit, sorry everyone! The holidays get very busy for me, but I hope to keep a chapter a week schedule if at all possible.


	7. Chapter 7

I woke to the sensation of falling into my bed. The sun was high in the morning sky. “Shit!” I breathe, jumping from bed and racing to my clothes. I was dressed in record time, grabbing my bag and staff and racing downstairs.

Leliana and Josephine were waiting at the stables when I arrived breathless. Four mounts were missing from their pens, and I had the sinking feeling…

“Good, you are awake.” Leliana smiled. “You may have already guessed, but the Inquisitor left this morning.”

“Shit! I’ll make up time, I’ll pay back for the horse—“ I start, heading to the stable for whatever horse was available.

“Actually, Lady Saeris…” Josephine interrupted, “You will not be joining the Inquisitor this time.”

I stop dead in my tracks. They ditched me; I just can’t win! How many times must I fail before I get SOMETHING right?

“Oh don’t look like that.” Leliana said, taking up my bag with one hand, and throwing her arm around my shoulders. “It was only because Cole insisted you needed to rest; the Inquisitor was rather determined to let you sleep.”

Bastard. I am not broken. I have nothing left, just the need to help, why is it being denied to me?

“So, you will be assisting us…” Josephine  started, heading toward the keep, “with preparation for the Winter Palace.” Her smile was devious; for a moment, I was more afraid of the crafty Antivan than the renowned Nightingale.

What the women actually meant, was—with the assistance of Lady Vivienne—I was going to be made a spectacle. Vivienne was an Orlesian noble, and the First Enchanter in Orlais. The beautiful mage was never my favorite; her attitude and pompous nature rubbed me wrong, no matter how I tried to approach her in the game. She was no different now.

I was standing on a box, Leliana taking measurements, while Vivienne circled me, inspecting every vulnerable inch of me in little more than my small clothes and a slip. We were presently in Vivienne’s seating area, an alcove on the second floor of the main hall, where I admittedly rarely ventured in game, and I never saw anyone go there willingly. However, I was still feeling rather exposed.

“I have had to work with worse, dear.” She smiled, her black eyes smiling while looking me over. “But we have a lot of work to do to make her presentable.”

“Presentable?!” I squeak. “I am not some trophy—“

“Oh, but you are, my dear.” Vivienne said, running a lock of my hair through her fingers. “To the court, that is exactly what you are. It gives you an edge; they will believe you to be a pretty face, and nothing else.”

Josephine comes down the stairs, her arms full of shimmering fabrics of nearly every color I could imagine in Thedas. “Consider this a new assignment.” She says, laying the fabric on a chair. “You are going to become the Inquisition’s secret weapon; you’ll be the source of our information.”

Leliana seems content, scribbling down the numbers. “And you have such a pretty face; the court will simply _adore_ you.” She smiled. “If we play this right, you will be better than any of my agents.”

“I suppose I have no say in this?”

“No.” All three women say in unison. I give up, and focus on a spot on the wall while they flutter about with fabric and trim.

~*~

I spent hours with those women, and I was thoroughly done with fashion and ‘style’ by the time they had come to a consensus on what I was going to look like. At one point, Dorian even came by to weigh in his opinion, which Leliana and Josephine both swooned over. I, however, didn’t pay much attention to it; I never was one to follow trends, even before I was dropped in a world where my survival was more important than how I looked.

At supper time, I found myself alone in the tavern. It was actually kind of lonely, for a time. I must have been asking for company, because before I was finished with my meal, Sera—with her overly excited, super caffeine-speed speech—plunked down across from me, downing my ale in one go. “Oye, Quizzy ditched ya too, yea?”

“Um, yeah.” I answer, suddenly aware that I was definitely not going to be able to finish my supper. “Apparently he was worried about my health, or some shite.”

“Pfft, what does he know?” She grins. “C’mon.” She grabs my hand and I am yanked from my seat without another word.

As it turns out, the spunky elf has a way of making me forget about being annoyed. We spend the afternoon playing small pranks on various people; replace Cullen’s water for something like vodka, hide Josephine’s inkwells, draw on Iron Bull’s horns while he is passed out from drinking too much, and a variety of other pranks before I am worn out.

“You’re good at this, yea? We make a good team.” Sera’s toothy, cocky grin makes me laugh, as we sit on a rooftop, munching on some hand-pies she swiped from the kitchens.

“I had a brother once, we used to play pranks on each other all of the time.” I say. “That was a lifetime ago, but sometimes, I still think of good ones.”

Bless her, she didn’t ask questions, just ate her pie and watched as Iron Bull emerged from the tavern with bright red painted penises all over his horns and head.

~^~

I spent the next several days with a slightly different routine. I woke, helped with chores and the medics, sparred with Cullen, then spent the time between battle prep and supper with Josephine and Leliana, learning the ins and outs of The Great Game; I quickly decided I hated it.

At night, I ventured through the Fade with my dream companion. I woke refreshed and my knowledge of the elves of old expanded and dense. It was magical, waking after seeing so many wonderful things. And I was growing rather fond of my companion.

“Do not say anything obvious. Listen, and only speak when you need to.” I parroted to Leliana as I brushed my hair through. “React in thought, but keep up your mask…”

Vivienne and Josephine taught me to dance, the ‘proper’ way to curtsy, how to walk toe-to-heel, even how to smile the right way at nobles. They went over the titles, and reiterated how it was almost encouraged to misspeak—it would make me look more ‘simple’.

Honestly, it was exhausting. The days ended with me, sitting with Dorian in the library, still searching materials for any information on the ancient magic—or the Veil. “I don’t understand why you are insistent on so this…”

I sigh, taking another sip of strong red wine he had provided. “Because, there is a lot at stake.”

“Because of some ancient, long forgotten elves?” He asks. “My dear, you are not telling me something, and I really detest being kept in the dark.”

It is late, the library is empty. Would it be so bad to let him in? Maybe just a little bit…

“It isn’t for a project…” I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose to ease the pain swelling in my head. “I am sorry, Dorian. I consider you a friend, so please, do not whisper even a word of this to anyone else.”

“You have my word.” He says, refilling my glass and topping his own off. “Now, tell me what you can.”

I avoid telling him that Solas is the ancient elvhen known as Fen’Harel, but everything else somewhat spills from my lips, like a dam breaking. My friend is attentive, and stays quite still, absorbing everything I say for hours. I tell him that Corypheus was only a step in the plan, that there is a much greater threat behind this all, that it was Corypheus that was the mistake—that I believed an ancient power was behind the orb. Someone, or something, was trying to tear down the Veil, because they want to bring magic back—back the way that it was in the time of the elves. But doing so would surely destroy Thedas as it is now.

“…and that is why I have to know.” I conclude. The stub of candle flickers with the final exhaled breath as I finish the wine.

“To stop the Veil from being torn down?” Dorian asks, his face slightly contorted in thought.

“No, to figure out how to do it without destroying the world.” I reply, closing the tomes I had open, and gathering my notes. “Because anyone who has the heart to save what was lost, would surely be destroyed by the knowledge that they sacrificed a world to get it.”

Dorian smiles; he is obviously tired, and a sparkle of admiration glitters in his eyes. “You have a big heart, Saeris; not many would even attempt to tackle such a feat. I will continue your research when I can. Maybe together—just maybe—we can pull this off.”

I practically leap at him with a hug. “Dorian, you always were my favorite! Well, you and Cole.” I mumble, my face buried in his neck. He laughs, and pulls away.

“Now my dear, that is no way to behave! Remember who you are with!” he brushes away the hair that haphazardly danced over my forehead. “What will the rumormongers do if they see us?”

“They can kiss my elvish backside.” I answer. “Thank you Dorian.”

~*~

The Inquisitor returns one week after he leaves. From what Varric had said, when I met them at the gate, they stopped riding only long enough to swap out mounts, and made the five day trip in three. They found Hawke and Stroud the day they arrived, and as I had predicted, found the magister binding demons in a blood ritual to warden mages, effectively making them mindless puppets.

Cassandra spoke little; she was obviously in ‘go mode’, taking Maxwell and speaking to the council immediately upon arrival. Maxwell was haggard, dusty, and tense, and he shot me a sad, but knowing look as he followed the Seeker. I wonder if he was considering what I had told him about choosing someone to leave behind, since everything was turning out as I had said thus far.

“I hate to say it, but I am starting to wish your predictions were wrong.” Varric grumbled as he headed to his room.

By the end of the day, the whole keep was buzzing. Preparations were being made for a full out assault on Adamant—the fortress where the wardens were hiding and performing their ritual. I was playing messenger for a time, as one of the Inquisition’s noble allies had assumed I was a servant; I only minded because of the tone they took with me. Just because I am an elf does not give them—or anyone—the right to treat me as some sort of slave.

The next day, the courtyards were filled with soldiers who were picking up armor and weapons, scouts came and went, ravens with missives flew to and fro, and in general, Skyhold was a mass of somewhat organized chaos. Each of the members of the inner circle, including myself, was outfitted with new and upgraded armor; Maxwell insisted we all are going to join the fight. Even my robes were taken and upgraded, even though they had yet to see battle.

I tried to maintain a sort of normalcy with my routine. I helped hand out armor, gathered herbs for potions, trained two new mages—young things I wish didn’t have to see battle—in the ways of healing arts, and carried out various menial tasks throughout the days. At night, I struggled with the library, Dorian trying his best to help me cover ground.

We were growing close to the end of the Inquisition’s acquired knowledge on the subject. There were only a handful of tomes remaining, and I was no closer to understanding the magic that created the Veil than I was the day I woke up here.

Beyond this, I felt a nagging sense of despair; I had told Maxwell of the choice I hated making in the game: To leave Hawke or Stroud behind. I had not told him it would be in the Fade. I had not warned him that Clarel would die, and that he would find his memories and the spirit playing as the late Divine. I hoped that I had said enough.

Or was it too much?

~*~

Fire, crashing, thundering bashing of the ram against the door, screams and shouts, the cries of warriors in battle. I followed the team manning the battering ram, shielding the men as best I could from the barrage of stones and arrows slung from the battlements of Adamant. Sometimes, the stones were too hard, too fast, too strong, and a man fell. I would try to get to them, but it was always too late.

Another dead.

The Keep is breached. I am to stay with the soldiers, to make sure they stay alive. Maxwell takes Solas, Cassandra, and Varric with him; they head for the battlements, trying to clear it enough for the soldiers to man them.

A swift strike of fire. Another soldier down.

I am racing between bodies, dodging the heavy claws of demons that race from the shadows. Fire, burning, suffocating, ash and embers in my lungs. My will flares, it burns—the tingle before now like an inferno in my soul. White light from me, it stops the demon from striking an injured soldier; it was the woman who led me to Skyhold. The white light grips the demon, and my thoughts tear it apart, shreds of fabric and demon flesh floating in the night sky.

“Inquisition! Cover the Inquisitor!” Cullen cries out. A rage demon is behind him. I am too slow!

A flaming claw strikes the commander, and he falls, his shield up to block the second blow. No no no no! I am running, my staff alive with freezing energy. I let it go, the demon screams and writhes, steam and smoke rising from it, and I body slam into it, pushing it away from Cullen. “Saeris, no!” I hear him scream. Blood is in my ears, I will see no more fall!

White, burning, freezing energy explodes from me, demons within my vision freeze solid in one resounding shockwave. Soldiers take care of the rest, and I lean down, my skin still sparkling with magic. “Saeris, you fool!” Cullen chastises, coughing blood.

I say nothing, just gather the mana that was pulsing in my blood, the light of healing magic forming in my hand, and I press it into his chest. His armor is damaged, but his body will be whole.

Running, I cannot leave the Inquisitor. He must live, Hawke, Stroud, everyone must come out of the Fade. I open the gates of my restraint, magic—like rushing water—flows through me, gathers in the crevices of my spirit, wells in my thoughts and bursts out like white water rapids. Wardens and demons alike fall as they charge at me, cast aside like paper dolls; I see only my task, my mind focused and free of all else.

They are chasing Clarel, up, up, up the tower, they will fall soon. The dragon—the fake archdemon—circles, casting blazing crystalline fire at anything that moves. I fight, stopping only to heal a scout or soldier as I find them. I climb up, up, following them.

It is too late. I hear the crash, the crumble of stone, and I see the green flash of light behind the tower. I am too late.

No!

I will save them!

I enter the courtyard, the rift to the Fade still lingers open, both Inquisition forces and wardens alike are battling with all their might against the horde of demons and warden mages. I see the hundreds of eyes peering through the green gateway—the Fear demon. I hear it echo, distant, laughing.  I am caught in the fray, the forces within me stretch and catch, helping those in need, hurting those who threaten us. Foes fall, and I feel the fire burn in me, no man here falls unless I say so.

Then the rift changes. I no longer see the demon on the other side; the spirit that had taken the form of the Divine has forced it from the path, which means the Inquisitor and the others are there. They fight the minion of fear, but after...

Now is my chance, I charge, and leap, and I will myself to pass, and immediately I feel it; like the air is sucked from my lungs, and I land with a thud against stone, and the fight of a totally different battle around me.

It is dark, like this place has no life. It is the place of nightmares and unspeakable fear. This is a place where no joy can survive. Everything is the color of smoke, and textured like cold stone and burned up wood.  The Fade envelops me, and I am one with it; it moves as I move, it does as I do, I command it, as if it was a hand or foot, and it obeys.

Solas is bleeding, Hawke and Stroud are confused, swaying as if their heads were spun too fast, Cassandra taunted and lunged, swung and bashed the demon that towered over her, as did Maxwell. They were both beaten and wearing thin; they were going to fall. Varric already lay unconscious on the stone, a pool of blood forming under his head.

No. No man will fall.

I will not fail.

Magic, mana flows, brilliant, strong, weaving a web so tight no nightmare could break it. Varric is healed, grumbling he looks, and a smile, wide, and with a “Hoorah!” he is firing a storm of bolts. Then, the savior of Thedas—I am mending him with a thought, I lend him my strength, my energy, and a proud smirk crosses his lips as he slashes. Cassandra sees me, feels the energy, and with a nod she presses forward, and I mend her wounds too.

Winding, white, welcoming light twists and turns, tendrils of hope in a place devoid of love and light. Solas, my dear friend, I give you strength, and your life force will be restored.

The monster is almost dead, it misses, it cries and shrieks, sulking to the shadows. They need to move.

“MOVE! Toward the gate!” I bark, a pulse of my will sending the blasted spiders into oblivion. I drag Hawke and Stroud to the gate, the energy still holding strong. “When it falls, RUN!”

Sword strike, blast of ice, slash, bolt imbedding in the sandpaper flesh of the demon. Its shrill screams of loss echo, it crumbles into dust, and the magic barrier fails. “GO! Fear is returning!”

Pushing, shoving, I move them, Maxwell grabs me, pulls me with him. I will not leave him here. We are so close.

It returns. Thousands of bulbous twitching eyes, legs like tree trunks covered in sticky, sickly hair. The spider, the Demon of Fear itself. It laughs, I hear it, echoing in my head. It taunts me, dares me to defy the fate I already knew.

“Tell them, you are a liar. A cheat.” It bellows. “You will fall, as will they all.”

“Go! I’ll distract them!” Maxwell yells.

“No!” Stroud yells back, “It should be me!”

“Not you either, it is fault, I should have made sure he was dead the first time.” Hawke hollers.

The demon laughs, “Tell them, tell them their fate!”

“RUN! Or you will all stay! Do not make him choose!” I beg, my eyes weep. I turn to Maxwell, his sword and shield already out, he moves slowly, picking up the pace as he races at the gargantuan spider.

Fade, the energy that flows through all things; the blood, air, water, the very spirit of even the building blocks of life, and it comes to my call. My soul is wise, my will is strong, and this demon will not see me cry.

 Solas and Cassandra grab the two other men. “I’ll get him out.” I say, and they disappear into the rift as my body glows white like starlight, and magic gathers about me and my Inquisitor.

No man will fall. No more.

Fade protect my friend, give me strength to defeat my enemy.

It is all so bright; I am so bright, like a star, the last hope.

There is a clash, the sound of metal on stone; Maxwell swings, a war-cry hot on his lips, spattering blood and sweat with every attack. The spider snaps, giant bone-crushing mandibles latching onto his shield arm. He wails in pain.

No.

It is like everything slows to a crawl, but I move like lightening; my staff, aglow with blinding light, held fast in my hands, comes down with the strength of every soul ever tormented by this beast; the light slicing deep, cutting away the pincers of the damned demon. It rears up, and tries to trample us with giant legs, but my will is stronger, my force an impenetrable barrier that no man, demon, darkspawn, or god will break. The spider bounces off, like hail off stone.

Maxwell stands with his arm limp at his side and his shield abandoned.

No, now I am his shield.

It speaks, rumbles insults and attacks my sanity; I do not listen. I am now as much of the fade as he is, and he has no power over me. “There is no room for your gluttony.” I scream, a torrent of magic gathering around Maxwell and me.  It wells, swarms, mingles, mixes mana and will from a thousand spirits, all wanting to make it stop.

“Saeris! Watch out!” Maxwell is yelling. One of its massive limbs swings into us; I keep my friend safe, but I am air-born, like a ragdoll.

It tumbles for me; thundering stomping steps as it approaches. Maxwell slices at the legs, hoping, I think, to cut a tendon and stop it, but it does not seem to notice. It slams into me against the stone, the rock rumbling, crumbling, crunching down around me. I feel the crunch of my bones as my ribs are pulverized, and my lungs crushed. It laughs, and bats me aside.

My vision is tunneled, twisting, tainted with dark spots, my breath falls in short, blood-soaked breaths. “Saeris!” Maxwell is beside me, eyes wild with pain and worry.

I gargle, and cough, spitting the metallic blood from my mouth.  In one raised hand, a mass of pure hope, pure faith, determination, materializing in a sharp, blazing orb of turbulent, wild white energy, I throw every ounce of mana and will left in my body into the belly of the demon. Fear is repelled from me, mid charge.

Maxwell drags me. Thoughts mangled, wobbly, jarring, stabbed with pain, but I know. I know.

The air changes. I feel it, like passing through a curtain of water.

I hear the rift snap shut as I am blinded by painful darkness.

 

~*~

His breathing is ragged, heavy. He lives. My light dim, dying, dispelling. We are back.

“Inquisitor!” it echoes, bounces off the walls in my head, swimming, swirling, stinging. Cassandra, her voice, her hands that grab, lift me.

“Check her!” Maxwell chokes, standing with a little help. “She…she took it on…the demon. She was the one to stop it. She got us out, even after…” He stumbles, I want to help, he needs me…

Warm, heavy, heaving breaths, I am barely breathing. “Saeris? Saeris, stay with us.” Cullen, he holds me up, my hand dangles, and it hits his armor. “MEDIC!”

Birds fly overhead, the sun rises, breaking over desert sands. Many have fallen, so many still stand, cheering, alive. The portal to the demon of fear is forever closed, the mages have their minds, and the men are safe and free.

“The wardens should learn from this woman! Today, she alone stood before certain destruction, and it is her bravery that saved my life, as well as that of your commanding officer!” Maxwell bellows, standing up high, above the heads of all in attendance. “It is her selflessness, her determination, her sheer will to stand that saved Thedas this day.”

“What of the wardens, Inquisitor?” Hawke asks, looking to Stroud, who helps one of his men stand, bandages on his leg.

“Still need…” I whisper, my voice, my lips clumsy, malfunctioning. “No…exile…”

Maxwell scowls, and with a sigh begins again, “From this day forward, the wardens will keep as far away from the Red Templars, and anything to do with Corypheus as possible. There are many darkspawn that need killing, and we know not when a real blight will happen again.”

“After all that, you’ll give them yet another chance?” Cassandra spats.

“For the woman who nearly gave her life to save us all, yes.” He says, “And if she wishes to give many more, I will. She has my gratitude.”

Finally, I did it. I got it right.

The power, it is mine. I can use it. I can save them.

Then, I can save him too…

“You are bright, brilliant, beautiful, beginning to see, see the face behind the mask.” Cole whispers, touching my face.

Solas uncorks vials, pouring the fluid into my lips. He whispers things, unheard, elvish things, lost to the cheer and shouts, lost to the magic that inspects. I am broken.

I am spent.

My eyes are heavy, crusted with dirt, Fade-stuff, blood and tears. My body does not head my will; heavy, hot, hurting, hanging from threads of magic, still clinging.

I am so tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I am posting this one a little early. Thank you all for reading, the next chapter will be up sometime in the next week or so.   
> <3


	8. Chapter 8

_The pieces are falling into place; like when you finally finish the outer edge of a complicated jigsaw puzzle, memories, faces, flashes of thought are sinking, melting, mixing, fitting together._

_“Open your eyes, child,” Her voice commanded._

_Dim, glittering gold, glimmering firelight off the metallic mosaics. White stone floors, delicate carved wood; it is still beautiful, even with the forest attempting to reclaim it. This is the temple of Mythal. We are not supposed to be here yet._

_“You have already been here,” The woman’s voice says simply. I turn around, she’s there. She looks like the one in the game; older, white hair strung up like dragon horns, red leather and sharp armor. “I brought you here, although it was a long time ago.”_

_She brushes hair from my face, and with a gentle smile, pats my head, as a mother would have. “This is where I brought you through. The door is shut to you now.”_

_I nod. She presses magic into my mind. Things simply…forget; I lose who I was before, before the potion, before the magic, before the pain and snow. It fades, now I am Saeris, daughter of Thedas…no. No there is more._

_“You are a true daughter of the Fade, Child.” Mythal releases me, stepping back._

_“I don’t understand.” Thoughts, whirling, clouded, fading into the mist._

~*~

“The rumors will be hard to contain…”

Scratch, scratch, the quill on parchment. “What if we use them to our advantage? “

“Or they will make her a target.”

“Leliana, that is what your people are there for.” The scratching of quill on paper near my head grates on my nerves like nails on chalkboard. “Besides, they will be tales of fancy, idle chatter for the nobles. They will make her very popular,” Josephine finishes.

“Can’t you leave the kid alone?” Varric’s voice asks, “She did just save the Harold, prevent an army of demons, saved who knows how many lives, and managed to overextend herself so badly she almost ....”

“Yes, Master Tethras,” Josephine sighs, “And it is that strength we need to utilize. I know she is close to you, and the Inquisitor, but she is here to help.”

My chest hurts, my muscles feel like they were saturated with lead. Varric, you are such a good friend. Cole should tell you I said that.

“And she did agree to this.” Leliana added. “Trust me, it is no more dangerous than falling into the fade and fighting a giant spider demon.”

“All I’m sayin’ is she needs a little time,” Varric tells the women finally. “You can play with your dresses and makeup once she can stand on her own.”

“In charge of her now, are we?” Maxwell asks, cool air and the scent of garden herbs brushing across my face.

“Hey, I am just looking out for the kid.”

“I believe I have some paperwork to attend to, should you need me.” Josephine stands, I hear the click of her heels on the stone floor. “Let me know when she wakes, we still have hairstyles to discuss.”

“Leliana, did you finish what I asked?” Maxwell says, his voice a little louder, he is closer now.

“Yes, the families of the fallen were compensated.” She sighs. “It could have been much worse. We are lucky Saeris was with us.”

Some died. I tried. I saved as many as I could.

“We are. Hopefully that luck will stay with us a little longer.” Maxwell hums. “I think I’ll need it with the Winter Palace. I hate to admit it, but I am more afraid of the court than I was of that demon.”

I need more sleep. Just a little more sleep.

The sun is too warm. It burns through my eyelids.

Somewhere, the sound of curtains against the rod, the light fades.

“Hey kid, you with us?” Varric asks, the scent of parchment and ale lingering nearby.

“She hears.” Cole states simply. “Still waking. Heavy, healing, hurried but not fast enough. Saeris is very tired.”

My eyes flutter open. I am in a very different room now. Gone is my small studio; now I lay in a luxurious bed, large enough to fit four of me comfortably, cushioned with fluffy pillows and soft blankets. There are windows along the walls, dressed in lengths of heavy wine-colored fabric with golden trim. Varric is leaning on the bedpost by my head, looking over Cole’s shoulder as he sits on the edge of my bed. Maxwell looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and he rushes to the other side, lunging for my hand.

“Saeris! Oh thank The Maker,” he sighs with a relieved smile. “I thought…for a moment…”

“I wouldn’t let you…have all the fun without me,” I answer in barely a whisper. Cole helps me sit up, while Maxwell shoves pillows behind me. I hate the attention, but it is nice that they are willing to go the extra distance for me.

“I think you owe us an explanation.” Varric’s face is very serious, he pours a glass of water for me, and Cole brings it to my lips for me. My arms are still too heavy to move. “You can’t just be some random mage. I couldn’t even make that believable.”

“Not to mention the fact that any normal person would have died instantly when that demon…” Maxwell started, his eyes looking glassy. “When it threw you.”

How to explain it. How much to tell? It isn’t fair that they are entirely in the dark. Not anymore. I have something special, something that could help.

“She doesn’t know how.” Cole says. “She is afraid of ruining the story. Afraid of the changes, shifting, shaking, stealing her truths; she just wants to help.”

Maxwell nods, his eyes fall to my frail hand still clasped in his. The poor man. “Tell us what you can.”

What can I? How many truths, stories, threads of tales, memories lost and fading…

“I am not from Thedas,” I start. “I was brought here by a very powerful mage.”

“Where are you from then?” Varric asks, sitting in the chair at my writing desk.

“I…I don’t really remember.” I think, try to remember. “There was a woman…and a potion. It was…it felt like so long ago.”

“It is alright, Saeris.” Maxwell comforts. “Don’t over do it now.”

“The potion…it changed me. Then pain, then I woke here.” Faded, lost, lingering only in threads and whispers, hushed and fleeting. “She is making me forget. I wanted to forget…I think.”

“Forget, yes.” Cole says, standing, fiddling with his fingers again. “Too much pain, hurt, you needed to forget to heal. You asked.”

I nod, barely moving my head. “Thank you, Cole.”

The spirit nods, and pops out of existence. “I have knowledge of Thedas. It was a…story? A book, but not. You became the character, you moved them, you made their choices…It is difficult to explain.” I can see it, the flashes of life on the lit panel. What was it called again? “It was called a game; it was a story you could control.”

“And what of this game?” Maxwell asks, helping me drink again. “You have to give us more, we don’t rightfully understand you.”

“I do not know that I understand it myself, anymore. It is all flashes of dreams, memories, played before me and I just watch…” My head is swimming, pressure building behind my eyes and pounding away at the back of my head.

“This is just crazy, kid,” Varric says, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I have seen the story of the Inquisition, through to its end.” I mutter. Yes, the Empress, the eluvians, Mythal, battles and fetes, so much more…then Corypheus. Then…

My face must have a hurt expression. “Saeris, it’s alright.” Maxwell hushes, as if I was a child having a nightmare. “Don’t push it too far. You need to heal still.”

He is too kind to me. His eyes are laced with a strange sense of devotion, his hands barely able to contain the shaking nervousness as he holds my fingers. Has he remained here the whole time?

“I do not know how much I can change before the end is different.” I say. “Right now, if I change nothing, I am confident that we will win. Corypheus will fall, and you will survive.” I look at his hand, the palm glowing ever so slightly green beneath my own. “But the mark…it will kill you if you do not amputate your arm.”

Maxwell nods, and removes his left hand, looking at the glowing brand. “I know. I feel it already. Like fire in my blood.”

“I have been trying to figure out the ancient elvhen magics. I want to see if there is a way to remove it, or transfer it.” I say without thinking. Yes, yes I can do that. If I can find a way to manage the Veil, this should be easy. “Or at least stop it from damaging you further.”

“Damn.” Varric sighs, standing. “I need a drink.”

“Please, this is just between us.” I plead. “There is more, so much more. I am afraid I cannot tell you, but it is imperative that no one else be told this.”

“You got it, kid.” The dwarf smiles and leaves the room, down a flight of stairs to the far right corner.

We are both silent, Maxwell sitting there, his eyes focused on his fingers massaging the back of my hand. He is thinking, I can almost see the gears turning, his lips in a frown, his brow drawn in.

It is minutes before he speaks again. “Why did you stay behind?” He barely whispers. “You could have—no, I won’t entertain such thoughts.” He stands, one hand rubbing the back of his head, the other resting on his hip. He paces the room, glancing out the window as if looking for some sort of help from his thoughts. “Why risk yourself like that? What is it that makes you stay?”

Poor, poor man. I would hug him, if it was appropriate, or if I was physically capable. “Because you are a very dear friend.” I answer. His slow, acknowledging nod strikes me hard. Oh, this was not the answer he had hoped for.

“I was so worried; I thought you had...“ he turns from me, stopping at a window. He leans into it, resting his forehead on his arm on the cold glass pane. “Do not ever do that again. I will not have you sacrifice yourself for a friend.”

Throbbing, biting, bitter pain in my eyes forces them to close. “I have no family, few friends, and no home to fight for. You, our companions, Thedas, these are my new reasons to fight.” I am sorry, Maxwell. “You are a very good friend. I would not know what to do if you fell…and Thedas would surely suffer for it.”

A sad smirk perked up the left edge of his lips. “Good friend’s a start.” He turns, his eyes still damp, but plasters a confident grin on his face. “Just means I’ll have to try harder than the hobo.”

Try harder than the hobo? “Maxwell, what do you mean?” I wish I could rub my head, try to ease the pressure.

“Come on, Saeris.” He laughs, and it almost sounds genuine. “You can’t be so blind to not have noticed!” He is laughing harder now, as he watches my expression of confusion. “Our resident Fade expert has a bit of a crush on you.”

He what? “I beg your pardon?” I choke. He comes back with my water glass, and feeds me a little of the refreshing liquid.

“Everyone knows, everyone can see it.” He smiles. I can still sense the sadness, maybe even jealousy lurking behind his steady eyes. “Yes, he has tried to hide it, but he is rather poorly practiced, I’d guess.”

“I barely know him, Maxwell.” I stammer. “I mean, yes, we have an equal understanding of magic—or so he says—and similar interests, ways of thinking, and…”

He laughs again, stretching and putting the empty glass down on the bedside table. “Your naivety is adorable, my dear.” He heads toward the door. “It is becoming of you, it makes you…real.”

I don’t know what to say to that. He smiles at me, “Rest up, Saeris. You are still my date for the Winter Palace. Just because you almost died to a demon won’t change that.”

A smile creeps on me. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Inquisitor,” I reply, and he leaves me to myself.

~*~

It takes the better part of a week to get myself well enough to walk down the stairs from my new room. The past few days had been riddled with more odd dreams with the elf man in ancient Elvhenan. Each time, he greets me, we talk, he kindly asks questions while pouring me a drink. Each dream I answer in half-truths, or answer with a question. Each dream, he draws ever closer to me. Each morning I woke with such an electric, blood pumping heat in me, and an undeniable dampness in my smallclothes.

But last night…

We were in the garden. We walked, side by side, guided by the moonlit path. I don’t rightfully remember how the conversation had begun, but we were talking about describing emotions and physical sensation, and how, in many ways it was impossible.

Then the warmth, the magic, began swelling, pulsing deep in my blood; reminding me where I was. I could feel the gentle nudge of his magic…an aura, if you will, try to coax mine further; the intimacy was neither timid nor brutish, but startling in that I had not—until that moment—realized I had known that aura, and felt it every time I had visited the Fade. It was not unlike the feeling of coming through the rift; like a curtain of almost tangible air brushing you. It had a taste, a touch, a scent; his was defined, raw, new but established. It was the pure male musk, but this…this was different; like desire, with experience, a dash of envy, and deep, deep within, an animal ferocity. It was a deadly mix for my resolve.

“Is it truly possible to describe any singular emotion?” I ask him, as we come up to a gazebo of sorts. “How is it I can say lust is lust? Is it the same power within another as it is in me?” I take a careful seat, watching the man with intense and unwavering attention. “Could I accurately explain the way it feels? The way anything feels…” His eyes focus, darkened, as if the words had spawned some feral thing inside him. He glides into the seat beside me. I remind myself to breathe, even here.

“I would suggest that it is not impossible,” The man says, his aura pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat. I felt it in my core, heard the beat in my ears, as if I was lying on his chest, my ear to his breast. My thoughts race. _Sweaty and steady, fluidic motions, undulating bodies, the strain of sheets against the mattress…_

“In my experience, it takes…certain people. It is a matter of compatibility; intellects must be able to fit together, give--” He leans in. His voice low, sultry. My thoughts are almost beyond my control. How did I lose myself?

_Hot breaths, lips tasting every inch. Too close. He is too close._ “—and take, blend and mold, shape and make new.”

My throat, even in the dream, is straining to swallow. His voice, his eyes, his scent, they were calling me louder than a thunderbolt, and my body wished to be led.

Even in the Fade, my face flushed. One glimmer of boldness shone through my quivering mess of thoughts, forcing me to ask, “Then tell me, what does it feel like?”

And he smiled, taking my shaking hand in his. He said nothing, he brought my knuckles to his soft lips. His breath, warm and damp, hovering over my fingers, and I waited. I waited for the tender touch of his kiss. My breath stopped, my heart rang wild and fast like stallions through open fields. I wanted that touch, the moisture of his lips lingering on my skin. I waited for the gap between him and I to close; I wished it. So, I waited.

But he smiled, and I woke.

So, when I woke, my sheets soaked with sweat and my arousal, I needed to be freed of my lodgings. I cleaned up quickly, changed into heavier trousers and a long tunic, and bounced from my door, in hopes to burn off some of this frustration.

 As it turns out, I was given the spare tower. An overly extravagant gift, if you ask me, but no one did; one side had a balcony that overlooked the garden, another looked out over the mountains. My room was on the second story; included in it was a sitting area, small library space, and a full sized desk and workspace (filled with magical gadgets and potion crafting supplies). I had a closet filled with new clothes, and an armor stand in the corner where a new set of special robes were displayed.

The Inquisitor had returned to the Western Approach the day after I woke in Skyhold, in order to assist with various quests, including clearing out a water supply and helping set up camps. He invited Blackwall, Sera, and Vivienne, all of which were less than enthused with the idea of traveling in the desert. Vivian almost refused, claiming to need to help with the preparation for the Winter Palace. Luckily, he promised her return in plenty enough time to get her spa day in (she has dry skin!) before the masquerade.

Feeling the sturdy stone pavers beneath my feet for the first time in a week was a joy. It is early, the chill of night still hanging on the whispers of sunlight breaching the mountain peaks and over the battlements. Few are awake yet; I pass only a handful of guards and staff, most of which still yawn and generally ignore my presence. I wrap the heavy shawl around my shoulders, and skip clumsily to the garden. There is a chill in the grass, the dew just a few degrees off freezing, and the moisture seeps deep into my foot-wraps. The cold is quickly evaporating my frustrated and lingering desires. Thankfully. I try to focus on other things.

Maxwell had behaved so oddly, that day I woke up. There was no denying that he had some deeper feelings for me, he all but admitted that much. But I barely know him. He is sweet, and there is a definite physical attraction to the man, but that is it; I do not care for him like that. If anything, I see him as a brother…a strange, scary, somewhat exhilarating concept. I have a family again.

Having little to occupy my interests so early in the morning, I make my way inside. By now, a handful of servants are cleaning up tables and starting their daily chores with the nobility that had come to visit. The fires were being built and the smell of rising bread was filling the air. Again, nothing here to keep interest, and I am in the way.

So I enter the rotunda. It is dimly lit, although the sun was beginning to shine in the upper stories of the structure. Normally, Solas would be here, staring at some slab of stone, or reading a difficult text, or painting one of the beautiful murals that decorated the walls of the lowest level. The panels of painting depicted the Inquisitor’s journey. Each color and brush stroke were finely done, the images striking and detailed in their symbolism. I want to add to it, I want to play with the pigments, to lose myself to the art.

“Good morning, da’len.” Solas says quietly behind me. I spin around, a little startled by the man’s sudden appearance. “It is good to see you up and about the keep, even if it is rather early.”

He looks tired, but he is attempting to hide it. His eyes are reddened, he moves with a somewhat clumsy, heavy motion. Maybe he just woke up?

“Ah, good morning, Solas. I am sorry if I woke you.” I fumble with the corners of my shawl, suddenly needing to be released from its clinging warmth. The knot I had fastened had grown taught and my fingers were too clumsy for knots.

Solas’s hands cover mine, removing my fingers from the knot. His careful and confident hands work free my mistake in a moment.

He is too close.

I swallow. How had the Fade hit me so hard?

My eyes find his. He is very close, his hands slowly releasing my shawl, and falling to his sides. That itch, that bit of memory, that knowledge that seems locked away, it calls at me, deep from my thoughts. His eyes, his beautiful eyes, careful, seeing all things…

“Thank you,” I whisper, trying to take a step back. He is too close!

But I am clumsy. My feet do not wish to carry me! I tumble backwards, and I brace for impact with the cold stone floor.

I wait, but it doesn’t happen.

There is a firm, but gentle grasp about my waist, the heat of a familiar body pressed against mine. Solas’s strength is holding me upright, his face a breath away. He caught me.

_…like desire, with experience, a dash of envy, and deep, deep within, an animal ferocity…_

“You should be more careful, Saeris.” He whispers, standing me upright. He backs away, as the sound of his voice saying my name resonates in my mind. Familiarity, that strange itch, the thing that tells you, somewhere, sometime, you know…something.

“Solas,” I start before I can stop myself. “Did you used to have hair?’

He laughs, and I am beet red. How could I have been so blunt? How rude was I? It was disgraceful!

“I—I am so sorry, that was, oh no.” I collapse on the couch as he turns, sitting on the edge of his desk, an odd mix of pity and amusement on his face. “I didn’t mean any harm in it. I am sorry, I will leave you to your work.”

I am almost to the door before he answers. “Yes, I only began to shave it recently.”

His eyes…the scent of herbs and old books…I turn back a moment to look at him, but he has focused on something on his desk. Had I been flirting with the Dread Wolf all this time? Could it just be a memory? I watch him for a moment before I leave. He seems unwilling or perhaps just distracted enough to ignore my pause. The width of his shoulders, the angle of his chin…

As I close the door, a satisfied grin flashes over his face, and I bolt from the keep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a super exciting chapter. It's a little bit of filler, actually. But in any case, here we go. Enjoy and thank you!


	9. Chapter 9

_I wander, the landscape swirling and shifting, switching, swapping, swimming in the mists, until I find a place that feels right. It is a forest, a defined path well worn by careful paws and hooves, a steady trickling stream, a lake where the moon and stars reflect off its mirrored surface._

_Why is it always night?_

_Finally, I am free from the grasping claws of my own memories; here I am free of the binds of attraction that had drawn me to the fade each night._

_Here, I can think._

_“Did you have hair?” I whisper to myself, tossing a stone across the water’s surface. It skips, dances and plunks with a faint echo into the dark depths. “What a fool. What kind of question is that?”_

_“It was not unwise.”_

_I look around, and find no source of the disembodied voice. It sounded like several voices, speaking in tandem, the gender hidden behind the layers. My eyes scanned the dark, searching for anyone in this place._

_It did not appear at first, but I felt it; a spirit of some significance was with me._

_“I fear my question was not only unwise, but outright childish. The words spewed from me before I had a chance to think on them.” I answer the voice, turning back to the lake. “It was ill considered, and possibly insulting.”_

_“He did not find it so.” The spirit replied simply. “He was amused by it. In a way, he felt refreshed by your forwardness; you were unrestrained by political play and social standards.”_

_Hah. Right. Another pebble flies from me, gliding across the surface. “I simply was curious what he would look like, it was a shallow thought to begin with…”_

_The spirit manifests beside me. It is little more than a mass of discolored air, or a small wispy cloud. Sometimes, I could almost see something resembling a humanoid torso, but it would fade fast into the shapeless cloud._

_“He was once a handsome man.” The spirit says. “He took great pride in himself, and his appearance showed it.”_

_“He is a handsome man now.” I correct with a sigh. “Not only due to his appearance, either. Somewhere behind that stoic mask is a very kind heart that suffers for his past.”_

_“It is a rare night to find a soul who finds the mind as attractive as the flesh.” The spirit cheers. “It is no wonder why he finds you so…unavoidable.”_

_No. Not possible. “But then there’s the man in the fade that could almost be his twin…” An image of him forms in front of me, his piercing eyes, the angled jaw, and the long hair trailing down his cheeks, the smirk as he lifts my fingers to his lips…_

_“He did not look so different.”_

_I will the image away. No need for any observers to see it too. “Surely it wasn’t Solas. He couldn’t possibly…me? No, he is more interested in knowledge. He is constantly searching for answers, or more importantly, for more questions…”_

_The spirit chuckles. “He knows wisdom in a way no man or spirit can.” It shifts and the scene changes ever so slightly. It is a very young man, among a similar forest path, he talks with the spirit I now stand beside, laughing and visiting memories long lost and forgotten, as if each is a precious treasure. “But he was also certain he knew everything. He was young, and had yet to see the consequences of his mistakes.”_

_The memory shifts, and he is a little older, stands taller, straighter, regal. He walks with his hands folded behind his back, as he does now. His hair carefully groomed and tied fast from his face. He walks with such surety and pride, that I am compelled to back away from it, as if I was somehow unworthy of him._

_“He is not that man any longer.” The spirit says. “He cries for his people. Yes, to others, he seems as solid as stone and yet deep inside…”_

_It changes again; it is a place I am vaguely familiar. I know the forgotten library, the brilliant abandoned white stone floors, the dusty murals, the long empty rows of books…”He is alone.” I whisper._

_“Until you.” The spirit adds. “At first, you were a complication. A problem to be handled and put aside; you knew too much, and you were too strong. But then—“_

The garden party, too many voices, too many people… the fragrant flowers, I grab his hand, and we run…

_“You are unlike anyone Solas has met in his long life; both in the Fade and in the waking world. You are an unknown, you have created a sensation in him he has rarely felt.”_

_“What is that?”_

_It pauses, watching the scene from the garden replay. “You made him unsure. You have created doubt. You have made him think, made him question everything he thought he knew. You have made him_ feel _.”_

_I shake my head. “I’m sorry, spirit, but that is not the man I remember.”_

_If the spirit had lips, I would have sworn it smiled. “Memory is a funny thing.” It replies. “In the fade, things are remembered based on who remembers them.”_

_I try to focus on that memory, but it fades as quickly as it had arrived. “But what is the real memory?”_

_“I believe you know the answer already, Saeris.” The spirit replies. “They are all real.”_

_The lake reappears, the path, the creek and the grass, all as if I had not moved. My thoughts have burned themselves out; I stand staring at the lake, watching the ebony waters lap at the shores by my feet. “I can sense you appreciate the wisdom and knowledge he possesses.” The spirit says. “Much of which I imparted upon him over time.”_

_Oh, this must be Wisdom. Oh no. The spirit that is pulled through and is killed by the mages, poor Solas…_

_“Would you like to see them?”_

_I turn to the spirit. “See what?”_

_“The ancient memories he cherished. Perhaps it will make this easier for you.” The spirit said, moving away down the path. Without a second thought, I follow._

_~*~_

The morning rises with the usual warmth and cheer as any mid-autumn sun. The hearth is murmuring, the last embers still clinging to flame as the sun peers through the closed curtains. I had tried to keep up with Wisdom, while avoiding the eyes of that man.

The one that could just be Solas.

The thought had me trying my best to avoid all mention of him in his younger years, once Wisdom led me down the path of history.

It isn’t long in bed before a familiar weight is perched at the foot of the bed, his big hat blocking the piercing sun that broke the barrier of velvet and fringe.

“Good morning, Cole.” I mutter, sitting up in bed. My head feels full of fluff, the pressure behind my eyes like something pushes from the inside.

“Wondering, waiting, what did I say? He waited, wished that you’d come.” Cole says simply, without moving even a muscle.

“What are you--?”

“Why did you go away?” Cole asked, his head tilting slightly to one side.

“I…what?”

“Last night, you ran away from the dream. He was sad.” Cole fiddles with his sleeve while tracing the embroidery on my bedspread with the tip of his finger. “He had waited, but he didn’t want to frighten.”

“Who? What? Cole, I just wanted to go elsewhere in the Fade, that’s all.” Why do I bother trying to lie? He knows I am.

“Bits, pieces, avoiding the parts that scare you, save those for stronger days…” Cole nods. “You met a new friend? I still see it, it clings to you, like cobwebs in your hair; not hurting, just reminding.”

“I—yes. I did.”  The spirit of Wisdom was kind enough to lead me to many memories nearby. It was clear that she was helping me clear my thoughts and sharing her purpose with me did just that.

“I didn’t know there was a spirit of Wisdom.” 

“They are rare, like you.” I tell him with a sad smile. “The world has so little wisdom and compassion to reflect…”

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by Josephine and Leliana, arms filled with fabric and towels. Cole is gone by the time my eyes leave the doorway.

In minutes, a small tub is brought in, and water is boiling in the fireplace. Vivienne has brought up a satchel filled with makeup, another of hair products.

It is going to be a very, very long day.

~*~

Smile, just smile.

The carriage stopped in the gravel lined driveway in front of the Winter Palace. Maxwell adjusted the sash on his uniform, ran his fingers through his hair, and pulled up his white gloves. “Do I have anything in my teeth?” he asks with a charming grin. It actually takes my mind off of the hordes of nobles climbing out of their fancy carriages around us.

“Just your tongue.” I laugh. It shakes the dress I am wearing, making it feel a little as if it is going to fall down at any moment.

The final dress was something I would never choose to wear if I was not told to. It was…revealing. I only accepted it because Leliana insisted it would lend to my ‘credibility’ and loosen up chatty lips. It consisted of layers of wispy pink and cream colored fabric, and if I moved right, one could almost see right through it. Small embroidered flowers scattered about the piece, particularly in areas where my lady parts would be exposed, which was somewhat of a relief. It hung low; the front draped like Orlesian curtains over my bust, over my bare shoulders, and down to the very bottom of my back. It was fitted down to my waist, and flared at the hips. I had to modify my smallclothes to wear with this get up; if I was not careful, the back opened enough to expose my…well, in all bluntness, my butt.  The rest of the sleeveless ensemble is rather delicate and…to my reluctance, admittedly beautiful. It is long, falls feather soft on the tops of my feet and trails behind me like fog on the water. I do not wear a belt, as the style would have normally commanded, nor do I wear the heeled shoes of the time, instead wearing white, halla leather foot-wraps.

My hair was teased with scented oil to curl on itself in a rough, wild sort of way. One side was pinned back with pearl studded pins enough to expose one pointed ear. I wore a simple pearl studded ribbon as a choker, and no other jewelry. Josephine and Vivian took nearly an hour with my makeup, which, by the end, looked little different than I had to begin with.

All in all, I was dolled up and quaking like a leaf in the wind. Maxwell sighs, and with a nod to Vivienne, who also rode with us (she wore a formal uniform, strangely enough), opened the carriage door. An immediate hush fell over the gathered nobles, as he offered his hand in the most polite, gentlemanly way possible, to help me from the compartment.

There is a palatable change in the air once I emerge. It is a strange mix of disgust, and curiosity, dusted with a faint measure of taboo. Yes, this was the idea, the Inquisitor with his elven ‘companion’; I was his doll, his plaything.  Neither of us liked the idea, and I had thought it more damaging to common folk and elves, so the role had to be well dictated. I was companion by choice, and I had to be pampered.

I still didn’t like it, but the plan was solid.

As I had remembered, Gaspard is waiting for us at the gates to the palace. He greets Maxwell with a flourished bow and pandering. “And this must be your…companion.” He smiles, and even through his gaudy mask, his eyes betray his carnal nature. I suddenly feel the need to shower. Tonight will be a long night. I bow, as is polite, and the Duke leads us inside.

“Please be careful. Remember that words can cut just as deep as blades can.” Josephine warns as we head into the building.

I hate Orlesian style; everything in sight is gilded in gold, and polished to a shine so strong fingerprints are afraid to remain there. Everything is grand in scale, the rooms are all vaulted, the floors all lined in imported stone, and the furniture is all matching velvet covers and golden trim.

We were announced to the court with the Grand Duke, and I did my best to focus on the sound of music echoing from the ballroom, and keeping the pretty smile on my lips. I could hear the hushed whispers, I could feel their eyes on me, but I refused to let it break me. Leliana’s lessons repeat in my head, her words dancing with the music. I listen, I note, I smile.

“Alright, now, let’s find some drinks and Leliana, I am sure she has a few pointers for us.” Maxwell sighs, clearly tense from the attention.

“She’s going to tell you about the Empress’ Occult Advisor.” I whisper to him, leaning heavy on his arm. It was an act, but I could see him blush and an awkward smile press his lips. “Morrigan, the witch of the wild she traveled with during the blight.” Maxwell passes a serving girl, an elf, barely a teenager, dressed in a clean but far from ornate brown dress and white apron. She does not speak, or even look at us as Maxwell takes two glasses from her tray.

“Anything else?” He asks, handing me one and taking a healthy swig of his.

“She’ll be the one to get you into the inner parts of the palace later.” I whisper, sipping and bowing to some noble who greets the Inquisitor as he passes. “She is safe, and very smart.”

“Good to know.”

We find the spy-mistress and she indeed warns us about Morrigan. She tells us to be careful, and not to let anyone hand me drinks. “Just to be safe.” She says.

I lean in a moment before we depart from her, “It is going to be the Duchess,” I whisper, kissing her cheek and walking away, missing her response.

As the dancing begins, we have only just begun to circle the room. I already heard several names dropped in scandalous conversations, before Maxwell guided me to the dance floor.

I swallow the lump in my throat as a wave of surprised whispers fills the crowd. “Everyone is watching you.” I whisper, gathering the skirt of my dress in my fingertips, and taking his hand in the other.

“I assure you,” Maxwell smiles, genuinely smiles, and gently squeezes my hand, “they are, in fact, looking at you.”

The song starts, and we are in the center of the room. It is not a complicated dance, nor is it overly suggestive, but with the entire room in tandem, it must look stunning. It is also quite fun, and I am grinning like an idiot by the end of it.

He bows and we leave the floor. Leliana gives me a wink as our gazes catch, and Cullen looks pink in the cheeks, as he is fending of three young women, and a man, who are no doubt trying to ask him to dance.

So the night goes. Unlike my memory of the game (it was a game…right? Memory is a funny thing), there was quite a bit of time making rounds and talking to people. Well, he did the talking; I was just a pretty thing to distract the nobles into slipping up. I danced with a few of the older and positively disgusting guests, talked fashion with a few of the ladies, and generally kept my eyes and ears open. Many secrets were being whispered between the notes of the waltz, if one was vigilant enough to listen for them.

Maxwell disappears with Solas, Varric, and Cassandra, and I suspect they are investigating the upper levels which are currently off limits. I am carefully making my way around the guest wing. I understand, to some extent, why Solas simply stood and watched this masquerade. The mix of intrigue, politics, sex, and scandal will permeate both the waking, and sleeping world, and this too, will be remembered. Someday, this too will be a treasured memory, lost to most, deep in the Fade.

It is hard not to stare too much at the patrons of this ball. After the Inquisitor leaves, I am largely left alone, aside from the occasional servant that whispers clues as to where to be, and whom to eavesdrop on. I am pretending to inspect some golden statue when a woman clears her throat beside me.

“I beg your pardon.” She says in a thick Orlesian accent. I turn, and bow in greeting, seeing that it is the duchess Florianne; cousin to the empress, and the one who is attempting to take the empress’s life. “I was hoping I might steal some of your time, Saeris.” She smiles, her china-white face so artificial that it looks as if it could crack behind the mask she actually wears.

“Of course, your Grace.” I reply with as much dignity as I could. She leads me to a balcony, and hands me a glass of some fizzy wine.  I am at a loss, as far as I knew, no other companions ever met with Florianne. This will entirely be on me.

“The Inquisitor,” The blonde noble says, sipping her glass. “He is an interesting man.”

Think; you know your enemy. I sip the wine. “He is, indeed, your Grace” I do not know what to say. What is safe with this woman? How long will it be until Maxwell returns? I am overdue for a chat with Leliana.

“I was not aware he was one to consult…seers, like you.” She says, thinking carefully about her words. I try to note the tone, the small flexes and relaxations of muscles in her lips, anything that could lend to her true thoughts.

“I am rumored to be a seer?” I gasp, feigning surprise. “Good heavens, what a tale that must be.”

“Indeed.” The woman replies, a smile cracking her lips. “It is so wild, in fact, that I just had to hear for myself.” She never changed her expression, even to drink. Her eyes were dead, sharp like shale arrow heads. “

“Do you trust such crazy tales?” I ask. Yes, questions for answers, give nothing direct.

“Do you?” she retorts.

No, I wouldn’t, had I not lived them, but she knows that. I can see it, that sparkle of duplicity, hiding behind the pretense of some friendly chat. Oh, Leliana you’d be proud.

“I humbly beg your pardon,” a page mutters behind us, “you are required in the ballroom, your Grace.”

Thank the Maker, the Creators, whatever. To be free of this woman! I bow with a nod as she struts like a peacock into the building. For the first time in what seemed like hours, I feel like I can breathe again.

“There you are, kid. Been lookin’ all over for you.” Varric strides up, taking a whiff of the bottle still perched beside me. “Not drinking too much, are you?”

“No, Master Tethras.” I sigh. “To my dismay.”

He laughs, “That’s politics for you. You and the Grand Duchess, eh?”

“She was trying to get information about the Inquisitor.” I whisper as a noble walks by, seemingly talking to another.

Varric and I re-enter the ballroom in time so see the tail end of the dance between the Grand Duchess Florianne, and Maxwell. The onlookers are outright chatty about the event! They hardly suppress their voices, whispering random, and mostly wrong, rumors about the couple. Leliana is watching intently, and I am barely able to pass on that information before the music comes to an end.

We race to meet Maxwell, who has the expression of a child who ate a much disliked food on his face. “Well, there is good news, and bad news, I’m afraid.” He says, leading us to an unoccupied part of the room. “Good news is, she is almost definitely behind it.”

“And the bad?” I dare to ask.

“She knows we are aware of such.”

Crap. How to play this now? How much will she change? How to stop this...will the clues remain the same? Who should come out on top? To push for the empress, or for the duke, or for a triumvirate with Briala, the elven ambassador? Will Florianne alter her plans in favor of stealth and success, or remain on track for the more public display?

Of course, she will want it public. The Great Game is afoot, after all.

“So what is the next move,” Varric asks, looking around us cautiously.

“We have more to inspect upstairs, but I fear this won’t end well, regardless of whom we leave on the throne.” Maxwell sighs. “Morrigan has given me access to the servants’ quarters, we’ll see what happens.”

“Be careful, Maxwell.” I say. “They are all equally guilty, all three of them. Even the Empress.”

“Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll be safe.” Maxwell gave me his best, most dashing nobleman’s smile, and went off for refreshment. The others went their separate ways, and I was left alone.

There is a large siting room that runs alongside the garden, where the Inquisitor had climbed to the upper stories. I soon find myself there, with a drink in my hands, wandering around, avoiding the prying eyes of the masks that surround me.

“I had not the chance earlier, da’len,” Solas said quietly, pulling me to a darkened corner, gently, “How lovely you look tonight. It is a beautiful sight to see one of the People dressed in such luxury and grace.”

What…did he just say? I am immediately warm, my cheeks burning, as are the tops of my ears. “I…thank you, Solas.” I smile weakly at him, “I am not sure I am fond of the…translucency of the gown, but I do enjoy it.”

“As well you should. There was a time when someone of your standing would have lived in such quality daily, hosting your own grand parties.” He leans, uncaring against the wall, watching as people seem to forget entirely that I was there at all.

Me? Noble? Hosting parties? I doubt I would have held such standing among the Elvhen, but it was…nice, that he would say so.

“You are enjoying yourself, at least. No one has given you grief?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

“Most do not know what to think of me. I feel that if I was dressed more mundane, they would think me a servant and I’d disappear completely.” His eyes dart to me a moment, and out into the room again. “How do you fare? You are unaccustomed to such events, one assumes.”

“Far less than you are, I am sure.” I sigh, falling back into the corner by a window. “You have probably seen many of these events in the Fade, you know how to gauge them, how to watch, and how to avoid too many people.”

“That is true,” Solas says, turning to me. His face is shadowed in the corner, but I can almost catch a surprising break in his normal expression. “Does it wear on you, Saeris?”

“Thank you, Solas, but I’ll manage. No one ever learned from quitting early.” I say with a smile. I almost see a glitter of pride in his face with my words, and then…

“I am glad to hear it,” He replies, a handsome, very familiar smile on his face.

He is so far out of my league. I have a job to do…Butterflies roar in my gut, and I feel the air in my lungs abandon me. “I…don’t suppose you’d like to dance?”

“I would. However I suspect seeing you dancing with another apostate would do little good for your…ruse. It would tarnish your reputation.” Solas’s face returns to its normal expression of amused disinterest, and he again leans against the wall.

Damn it. “Perhaps, there will be a chance later?” I offer hopefully. He nods, and I make my way into the garden, in hopes of drowning my romantic failures in liquor by myself.

~*~

I am lost to the music and shadows for some time. Maxwell would have taken the others to finish their investigation. At one point, I think I hear a commotion from an open courtyard beyond my vantage point; I could assume it was my friends defeating the attempt to take the Inquisitor out of the picture.

They are taking too long.

I am buzzing; my head a hazy mix of coherent thought, wine, and the pungent scent of perfume and sex. Something isn’t right. I should not be this intoxicated. No, not drunk…something, else.

The liquor she gave me. The evil woman! That blasted drink on the patio; I should have known. I am drugged. It is something slow acting, meant to make the wine stronger, it is trying to make me…

No, do not close your eyes!

Stumbling, trying to stand. No, must play the part. I am alone in the corner, a small dusty storage room is here. I duck inside, close my eyes. Focus, will myself to gather the threads, weave it together, yes, yes, the magic.

It swells, courses, pumps and prickles at my skin; mana, magic, the fade it embraces me, it flows through me. It catches the poison, it glows, it neutralizes, it pushes it up, up and out. It makes me sick, and I empty my stomach into an empty planter. It is bitter, but it is gone from me.

The magic subsides, I stand, leaning weak against the doorframe. My mind begins to clear, the fog fading to coherency.

Maxwell, where are you?!

I pick up my pace walking back into the palace. The crowd is gathering in the ballroom. It will happen soon. I spy Leliana and Cullen, they are concerned; Maxwell, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas have not returned.

The speech starts. No, no, no! Maxwell should be here!

I am moving before I realize it, to the ballroom floor, in the middle of the room, amidst hushed shock and snickering. “I believe you owe the court one more show, your Grace.” I announce loudly. “However, you are beaten. Even the masters fall to the Game in time.”

“Your jokes are most charming.” The woman attempts to laugh.

“A joke? How can the assassination of your cousin be a joke? The Game is a serious matter, your Grace. Did you expect the delay of the Inquisitor to be enough to buy you time?”

“It seems I have misjudged you…you are more resilient than I had believed.” The blonde woman sneers.

“Indeed, as are my friends.” I say, folding my hands behind my back, standing tall and as dignified as possible.  “They will return with evidence that you were attempting to frame your brother, and kill your cousin; you brought all of your enemies here to wipe them all out at once.”

“A fascinating tale, if true. But do you really think anyone will believe the wild stories spun from _your_ lips?”

“That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin.” Empress Celene says from the ledge above us. I had forgotten she was standing there.

Florianne turns to her cousin on the stairs, her façade breaking beneath her mask. “Gaspard? You cannot believe this. You know I would never—“

The man sighs, and with the shake of his head, he turns his back on Florianne, Briala in toe. Just then, Maxwell and the others burst into the room, covered in blood and still in their battle gear. A smile crosses the Inquisitor’s face, and he looks down proudly at me. “You lost before you truly began, your Grace. You were just the last to know.”

Two guards take her away, and I am led to the upper level. Maxwell gives me a heavy pat on the shoulder before he follows the empress to the balcony, with Gaspard and Briala.

My head aches; probably a side effect of the poison. There is another balcony, empty still from the drama unfolding inside. I find a comfortable place, wedged between two overflowing planters of fragrant flowers.

The Empress makes her speech, the cousins are to work together for a time. Maxwell adds the importance of standing strong and showing that Orlais will not fall to Corypheus. I smile when the drinks start, and everyone is quickly becoming inebriated.

“I am not surprised to find you here.” Solas says, coming to stand beside me. “It is an overwhelming environment inside now; even though they sing your praises as loudly as the Inquisitor’s.”

“I did little.” I sigh. “I saw what needed to be done to save as many from bloodshed as possible. I did what needed to be done.”

“Humble words, from one who braved the floor when no other would.” The elf looks me over. “Are you alright?”

“I will be alright, I am just very tired.”

He leans against the railing beside me, his arm, clothed in his formal attire, pressed against mine. “I believe we have little time to spare,” he begins, stepping toward the center of the balcony. “Come, dance with me. Before the music ends.”

I follow his motions, watch him hold out his hand, and with the most genuine smile he bows. I am surprised, but immediately it fades. My heart flutters and warmth floods my face.  I recognize that smile, amidst the gardens and the libraries, among the denizens of the Fade. I feel as if know that smile, and yet I place my bare palm in his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 1k views!   
> I never thought so many people would look at my writing, much less the 120 of you who gave me kudos!  
> Thank you to everyone, and I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season so far.
> 
> <3


	10. Chapter 10

_Some forgotten city spread open before me. I could see the very edges of this floating city from my spire window. The roads glow with the sun, sparkling with the prismatic colors sparkling from the crystal spires. I see spells being started, ones finishing, flashes of light, mist, and the healing of wounds. I see dignity, pride, respect, and knowledge in action._

_I see the undulation of people, no one hurried from one place to the next. No one acted without intent, without thought and preparation. Everything they do is methodical, beautiful, peaceful, paced, practiced._

_“These are the parts that Solas misses most.” Wisdom says behind me._

_But then, I am walking among the People, finding paths around the decorative buildings and ornate statues. I find districts of homes, small, nondescript boxy homes, layered with dirt and dust, smudges of substances I’d rather not consider littering the walls. People here look at their feet, they dare not speak to the nobles. They wear dirty or bland clothes, covered in dirt and dust._

_“These are the parts Solas tried to save.” Wisdom says, focusing on a small child squatting by a doorway, drawing small glyphs in the dirt. “These are the people he feels he failed.”_

_“They are not yet marked. Has the war between the Evanuris not yet begun?” I ask, watching the girl giggle as the glyph springs happily to life, glowing a warm deep orange. She warms her hands in the light before an adult stomps it out, chastising the girl for casting._

_“No, but soon. That girl there, she is claimed later by June. When she grows older, she helps him in developing the magic used to seal the eluvians,” Wisdom heads toward another house._

_Inside a set of twins help their mother bake bread. They knead the dough, carefully and practiced, while mother builds the fire. “These two girls become Sylaise’s. Alongside their goddess, they develop strong potions that make magic in a consumable form; it turns the tides for the injured.”_

_We go on, and Wisdom points out key players in this upcoming war. She even points out several people I knew from my memories of the game; Abelas, namely, he is a young man, perhaps a young adolescence. “He becomes one of Mythal’s sentinels.” I tell Wisdom. “We will meet him at her temple soon.”_

_“He is a careful boy. Cautious, and prideful. I rarely spoke with him, he preferred the People to spirits.” Wisdom hums._

_“He decides to close off the Evanuris from the world, but in doing so, cut off all of his kin from the magic they had always had.” I watch as a family of servants carry huge baskets filled with luxurious clothing to be washed. “But he did not have the wisdom to know the effects of such an action. He didn’t do enough research or ask the right questions.”_

_“No one had attempted such a feat before,” Wisdom corrects, “even if he had asked, no spirit could have known for certain what the results would be.”_

_That must be why he feels he must correct this alone. He alone made the mistake, because he was the only one strong willed enough to stop the destruction; too bad it changed the people more than he could have expected._

_“Wisdom comes from experience.” She tells me, the memories growing ever more faded and loosing shape. “He is wise now, because of his mistake.”_

_“It is unfortunate that he is not wise enough to know he is about to make the same mistake.” I walk slowly, through the wall of a hut as it dissipates into the mists that make the fade._

_I watch as the memory fades, and I am again alone with Wisdom in the forest glen. “Thank you, Wisdom.” I smile, and stand to stretch my legs. “Do you often share memories?”_

_“It is rare that someone wants to just explore what wisdom I offer,” the spirit replies softly. “More often than not, dreamers venture to me to ask advice on specific subjects.”_

_I walk slowly around the glen. “Solas, he asked to know what you could share.” I say, rather than ask._

_“Yes, he was always more interested in my purpose, using it as he needed it, rather than asking pointed questions and following strict rules.” Wisdom shimmers. “He often would seek any wisdom, just to have it. He used the wisdom in different, if not completely unorthodox ways. But he always respected me, and my purpose.”_

_“That does sound like the Dread Wolf,” I sigh, looking up at the memory of stars blinking above my head. “Did he ever ask about his mistake?”_

_“Often.”_

_I nod, and sort out jumbled information welling in my thoughts. He created the veil, he thought it was a mistake. I wonder if there are other artifacts that can function like the mark?_

_“Wisdom, I know this is not quite your expertise, but I have a question.” The spirit shifts and settles. “Are there other artifacts that can open the Veil? Something that can function like the Anchor?”_

_The spirit makes a noise like the buzz of a bee too close to ones ear. “I am not certain; it is unwise to try to open the Veil, regardless of the means of which it is done.”_

_“Perhaps, but that is ultimately Solas’s intention.” I answer. “If I can understand the means of which a tear can happen, perhaps I can control it enough that Thedas does not need to burn.”_

_The spirit shimmers, and otherwise remains silent. I flop myself gracelessly onto the grass, and play with a rogue lock of hair. “Then, if I can do it, Solas can just be Solas, he can make whatever amends he can with the other Evanuris and the Forgotten ones, and he won’t have the guilt of actually destroying a world on his shoulders._

_“You have the heart of compassion love, but I fear your desires may not be enough to make your plan.” Wisdom says quietly. “However, I will ask Knowledge; if such an item exists, I will tell you.”_

_I smile, “Thank you, my friend. For now, could you just share with me? Your purpose is so wonderful.”_

_“Of course, child.” Wisdom answers, and begins a new lesson on the effects of compassion._

~*~

“See, I told you.”

Laughing; why are they laughing? What time is it? I shift, and I become abruptly aware of the radiant heat and familiar scent of herbs under my head.

I had been spending a wonderful night with Wisdom, discussing philosophy and history, and various concepts involving learning from mistakes.

But now Maxwell is smiling at me, sitting beside Cassandra in the moonlit carriage; it had been a long night. A mass of discarded formal attire stuffed between the two warriors. Cassandra had a blushing smile on her face, and agreed with a nod, before looking out the carriage window.

The Inquisitor placed a finger to his lips to hush me, nodding to my pillow. Solas, peacefully unaware of my waking, still slept, his head resting on his dress uniform bundled and wedged in the corner. He was angled in a way I could use the flat of his chest as a pillow, rather than his hard shoulder.  I feel my face flush immediately aware that I had, at some point, fallen asleep on the man’s chest.

“Are you still going to tell me he doesn’t have a thing for you? It seems pretty obvious to me.” Maxwell asked, his expression attempting to hide the disappointment. “You did fall asleep first.”

The lump in my throat, along with the proximity to Solas made me unable to answer. He smiled and turned to look out the window. “I do not know what it is. Please, don’t make a big deal over it,” I beg quietly.

His eyes are so sad, hiding behind the glitter of foolish pride and youthful arrogance. “It is ok. Don’t worry.” He whispers, apparently seeing my concern over his disappointment. “You’ll always have me around, even if…well, you know.”

“Thank you.” I whisper finally. Another wave of sleep crashes over me and I yawn.

“I never see him relax, or even really smile when you are not around. Despite my own feelings and what my circle imply, I think, maybe you guys would be good together.” Maxwell hands me my shawl, which he had been using as a blanket. “But what do I know? Go back to sleep, we all should. It is still a while before we’ll be stopping.”

I curl up under the shawl, and start to doze. I feel myself slowly fall to one side as I loose myself to the tug of sleep, the simple warmth of another body, and the gentle lull of the carriage over packed dirt road.

_The forest opens before me with the parting of Fade-mists. I hear the trickle of the stream, and the rustle of the soft breeze in the trees above. A full moon peeks through the branches, dotting the path with speckles of white._

_“My friend, I do not understand your hesitation.”_

_Wisdom. She was there, somewhere nearby._

_“It isn’t right; not here, not in the waking world.”_

_My heart stops. That voice, it isn’t the man I had been seeing in the fade. It resembled it, but it wasn’t…_

_“She has made you smile, has made you feel alive for the first time since your waking. I do not understand why you cannot let her in, Solas.” Wisdom answers._

_It makes sense; Solas and Wisdom are old friends, yes it makes sense he would be here. But they couldn’t be talking about me, could they?_

_Thoughts speeding making me fuzzy, heart thrashing against the restraint, blood warming my neglected soul. No, not about me, surely…_

_But what if…_

_He is pacing, slowly, across dried leaves and dry soil. I hear the crinkle of his steps on the ground, the heavy, slow breaths he is taking. “Because, I have only come to her as…as something else. Someone else. If she cares for any man, it is that person. The thing I was, not who I am.”_

_I stop, hiding behind a large tree. It was Solas. I had been flirting with Solas. That man in the Fade was no demon, he was the Dread Wolf. Somewhere in the depths of my mind I knew it, this whole time. Perhaps that is why I kept meeting him, rather than running._

_And as the god of trickery, he had fooled me._

_But why?_

_“Do you not think she knew? She may not have been aware of it, but somewhere, in that girl’s soul, she knew.” Wisdom asked. I looked around the tree, into a clearing off of the path. Solas was there, pacing slowly, his arms crossed in front of him, his eyes focused on his feet. Wisdom, however, was sitting on a log, well, as much sitting as a spirit could, I suppose. “Saeris may be just that: your never ending dream.”_

_Wisdom…thought I was his dream? As in, something he wishes for?_

_“I…I just do not know.”_

_“She has accepted you in the waking world, has she not? You both have often told me of your conversations, and I have seen your dreams when you let your mind wander,” the spirit shifts and the color of her form changes just a little. “I have seen the joy she brings you. You have been alone for too long, my old friend.”_

_“But what of--“ he starts, before his eyes dart to my hiding place. “Never mind. Thank you, friend.”_

The shutter of the carriage coming to a stop wakes me from my nap. Solas stirs as I sit up, and Maxwell mutters something as he rubs his eyes. Cassandra looks as if she had been keeping watch the entire time, and simply watches us for a moment.

I dare not look at him. I feel my hands shake as I try to hide them beneath my shawl, and adjust myself in my seat. My backside hurts from sitting too long, my back aches from leaning at an odd angle, and I feel a slight hangover sinking in the back of my eyes.

“We there yet?” Maxwell yawns, stretching upwards.

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Cassandra answers. “We can stay here tonight, and make it back to Skyhold tomorrow.” The Inquisitor grumbles something, and kicks open the carriage door, climbing out with about as much grace as a bag of potatoes tumbling down a hill. Cassandra begins to berate him on his lack of grace, as she too exits.

I feel Solas’s fingers brush my hand, which had been resting beside me on the bench. My eyes instinctively search the source, and as soon as they meet his eyes, he turns away. It is fast enough that I am not able to even guess his expression. He climbs out of the carriage and makes for the inn entrance.

Pull it together, woman!

My heart feels as if it is going to either jump from my ribs, or stop beating altogether. Surely, it was just an accident, stumbling in on him in the Fade. I gather my skirt and head to the inn.

Maxwell went straight to his room, without food or drink. I couldn’t blame him really. Cassandra and I were to share a room, and she informed me she too would be turning in early. “I suspect you have things to consider, and I do not wish you to force you to sleep early.” She said, smiling a little.

“Thank you Cassandra. I shouldn’t be long, but I will leave that up to you,” I answer. In truth, I am not sure I could sleep again right now.

“I will leave the extra room.” She says, turning to the stairs. “We will leave at dawn. I tire of Orlais.” She waves good night and ascends the staircase.

The tavern is empty; the sitting room at the ground level is also deserted. The quiet induces a series of memories. The library, the party, reading beneath the great willow tree…

I am warm suddenly. I step outside, where a small once opulent garden still lingers beneath the star filled skies. The plants are slightly overgrown; weeds scatter among the tended roses and crystal grace.

Alone in my private paradise, my mind wanders to that first night; the sound of the song strumming every chord in my soul that wished to be embraced, and the man behind the mask. How could I have missed the obvious? I knew it was him, I recognized his eyes, the scent of herbs and old books, and looking back, even the way his magic felt, when I first felt his aura. Yet, the Wolf had me fooled.

And I forgive him.

Reliving every moment with the Dread Wolf in my memory, the conversations of magic and history in the waking, the dance…

I barely knew him.

When my eyes feel heavy again, I climb the stairs to the second room. It is no surprise that it is left to Solas and I. He had long since fallen asleep; his face a peaceful reflection of the dream he was living in. I could almost see a smile on his lips.

I want to kiss him. I want so badly to not know what he is, and just enjoy him as Solas. I want to explain everything, to just magically make him see the way…

I pull the discarded blanket from his side and lay it gently over him. He stirs slightly beneath my touch, but does not wake. He is so handsome. Somewhere in my heart I know I cannot escape him; I have his scent, and I cannot leave now.

~*~

_Memory._

_It is a funny thing._

_When you look at it, it warps, hazes, mixes, changes._

_Especially in the Fade._

_The spirits are gathered, amidst the mist and stone, the forgotten and the immortalized. She is there too, Mythal. She stands, her arms heavy with the weight of a body, limp, lifeless. A wisp of a girl, long hair matted and dangling like rope from the pier, her body a shell of a woman, the soul inside barely sustained beneath flesh and cotton._

_They come to create._

_Mythal lays the girl down on the cold stone ground, chanting, casting; her aura alive with energy none have seen since ages long passed. The Mother of All begs the shy spirit from its formal body. It rises from the dried lips, a small, bright light no bigger than a whisper. She guides it, cupping it gently as if it was a newborn babe. She breathes life into the small spirit, the life force remaining in the former goddess dwindling further. The spirits know, and they begin._

_One last time, they will build from the very essence of life; the Fade bends and gathers, coalescing into a new form. It grows, small at first, like a seed in spring; the sprouting of the first tendrils of life purling about the powerful, primal force springing to the life at its core. The hum of that girl’s spirit grows louder, at first a whisper, as the spirit is forced to change, to grow and to stretch._

_She screams._

_The Fade echoes with her cries, and the spirits tremble. Compassion wishes to stop the pain, begs to make the fire end. “She’s burning!” Compassion wails. “It is burning her!”_

_“The only way to make it stop is to complete her.” Wisdom hushes._

_Knowledge comes forward, and without hesitation, this spirit breaks a part of itself off, gathering it into a dense and compact gem, and with swift, deft form, merges it with the growing form before them._

_The screams grow louder._

_The glowing incipient form takes shape, small arms, legs, tiny hands and feet, a torso and a head; infant still, but there is more._

_Cunning comes next, and like the last, breaks away a part of itself, gifting it to the Fadeling. Then Hope, and Charity, in turn they all gave some of themselves. Love, with tender and devoted care, bid them farewell, and gave its entirety to the little Fadeling; there is so little love in the waking world._

_Pride gave a little, as did Anger. Fear and Despair gave too much, leaving little more than a thought of their former selves in the Fade. They were gluttonous in their want for the spirit._

_Many more came; Faith, Command, Duty, Purpose, and Learning bestow their gifts. With each spirit the infant grew. Babe to child, child to adolescent, then to a woman. Her cries grew strained, her body quavering with each addition. Her hair lengthens, golden and glowing like a golden star, her figure bending and stretching. Her eyes open wide, white, unseeing, blinded by the womb-world; she is not awake._

_Wisdom came next. “Hush, dear child. It will be over soon.” And offers herself, and a silent promise to guide her in the Waking._

_The woman’s cries slowed. Her tears dried, and wide eyed wonder glittered on her pale face. Compassion was last. “You want to stop the hurt. I will help you.” It promised, and as gentle as a kiss, bestowed its power. “No more pain, you’ll heal the hurts.”_

_Mythal comes close to the floating figure, pale like moonlight on the crystal spires and white stones of Arlathan. She whispers, brushing a steady hand over the woman’s new head, “Be strong, Child of the Fade. Our fate rests with you.”_

~*~

I jolt awake as Dorian drops a heavy tome next to my head. “Sleeping on the job, princess?” He jests, rubbing my shoulder tenderly. “You spent too many nights out. I should commend our hobo elf for finally getting you worn out enough to sleep.”

I rub my eyes and ignore the burning dryness within them. “I do not know what you are talking about.” I yawn, pushing aside the tome I had so gracefully fallen asleep on. “It was just one dance. It isn’t as if anything happened.”

“But you shared a room with him, by choice I might add.” He smirks, sipping his wine. “You honestly didn’t even try?”

What a dream. But it was so real, it felt like I knew it; perhaps it was not a dream, but a memory.

Back to reality. “No, I did not. I respect him more than to take advantage of our proximity,” I reply, taking a sip of water and adjusting myself in my seat. My neck was cramped and my rump hurt from sitting too long in the wooden chair.

He snorts, opening the tome and mumbling beneath his breath “sleeping on him is a funny way to show that.”

It is hard to focus. I am surprised I went to the fade after falling asleep in the library, I had not been asleep long. “Dorian…” I start, closing the book I was trying to study. “Do you have much experience with the Fade?”

“My dear, you know the answer to that.” He sighs. “Aside from the normal dreams, no, I am no dreamer. Solas is much more versed in such subjects.”

“But surely, you have seen memories there? Do you know how they differ?”

He rubs his temples, and takes a healthy swig of his wine before answering. “No, I do not know it. I see dreams as…well as dreams. They just are there, in my head. I know they are dreams, but that is the extent of them.”

Damn. I hoped I wouldn’t have to ask…

“In all seriousness, my darling, you should ask Solas. I know, I know, nervous and whatnot, but it is a subject I’m quite sure his boring brain can sufficiently explain to you.” Dorian returns to his book.

It has been three days since we returned to Skyhold from the Winter Palace. Three days I spent largely avoiding Solas. What would I say if I did run into him? I walked in on his dream. I listened in to his conversation.

I know he is the man from my dreams.

I know he is Fen’Harel.

And he knows I am friends with Wisdom.

I spend the evening with Dorian, his research into the Venatori taking precedence over my own studies. It is late by the time he and I retire from our worn down table; he goes in search of Iron Bull, and I, in search of a quiet place to think.

The courtyard garden is my first choice. It is quickly apparent that the gardens are not abandoned, as I spy some giggling couple huddled in the corner.

How could I speak to him now?  I feel Cole appear beside me, silently walking, probably fidgeting with his gloves.

“You should tell him.” He whispers finally.

The flowers are blooming again, they smell sweet and earthy.

I am acting foolishly; like a child, embarrassed because they were caught doing something wrong.

“No, not foolish. Careful, cautious, scared of the story you will become…” he smiles. “He’d like it if you told him. Voice warm, comfort, like the soft coverings on the downy mattress; speaking, asking, thinking aloud. Please say anything.”

Cole, you are such a wonderful friend. It is almost adorable that you are playing matchmaker. But I can’t…

The soil is damp and warm, and the dampness lends the scent to the perfume heavy in the air under the starlight. Cole fades into the shadows. But maybe I can just…

“Saeris?”

I stop, and stand from my kneeling position between the masses of herbs and flowers. Solas stands there, arms folded neatly behind his back. He was little more than a dark outline, but I could tell it was him, even if he had not spoken.

The giggling and hushed whispers of the other patrons of the garden directed his gaze from me. “I was hoping I could have a word with you.” He says as he slowly turns back to me. “In private.”

I force myself to breathe, try to calm the butterflies that grow ever stronger in my gut.  “I, yes, of course, Solas.” I stammer, gathering my skirt and heading toward my tower. “My quarters shall suffice, I hope.”

He nods, and with his gentle grace, follows silently behind me.

With a thought, the fireplace roars to life, as do several candelabras in the room. I walk as steady as I can to my seating area, and motion for him to join me. As he sits, I try to maintain my dignity. “What can I do for you?”

“I overheard you asking about dreams and the Fade.” He starts. I wonder if he is just trying to talk to me, close the void I had made by avoiding him. “Dorian also mentioned it to me while you were away once.”

Oh, maybe he is trying to cover his tracks!

“I…yes. I did not want to trouble you further; I know you have much to do with the shards and the missions with the Inquisitor.” Not a lie. I’ll let him lead.

“It is no trouble, lethallan. Dreamers are rare, and it is my duty to help you.” He replies. He leans back, one elbow perched on the arm of the couch, his chin resting on that fist. “Now tell me, what was your concern?”

He is kind, his voice low, but obviously intrigued by my condition. A relaxed smile faintly dances in the firelight. I must not get distracted, but his eyes are so beautiful; I can almost see his soul.

“I am having a hard time discerning if I dream on my own, or I am in another’s.” I say finally.  “Or, if what I see is a memory, or it is a dream made simply to sleep.”

He nods, looking deep into the fireplace. “It is difficult to tell, but there are signs.” He says finally. “Mostly, memories would seem…less substantial. The figures are usually transparent, and it carries over many spirits; the energy shared between each member thin, and thus they appear like a ghost.”

None of mine seemed as such. None except the dream while I slept in the library today. “Is it the same for all dreamers?”

“Generally speaking, yes.” Solas replies, still gazing into the fire. I wonder why he is doing that?

“Can a dreamer…stumble, unknowingly, onto another dream? As in, accidently enter their dream, without knowing it?” Why do I repeat myself? I am sure he can understand the first time. You need more backbone, stupid woman!

He flinches, and his eyes turn to me. “It is possible, however unlikely. Why do you ask?”

Oh no. I should have expected this. “I have been seeing in the Fade…things that are not as you describe as memories. Well…only one was a memory.”

No. too much. You said too much! His eyes focus, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “What memory is that?” No, no, no! He can’t know! But he doesn’t ask about seeing him and Wisdom…

“I…I am unsure.” I answer. “I do not remember it, but there is a familiarity to it.”

“Will you tell me?” Solas asks, his interest suddenly very open, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I am not sure it is wise, not yet.” I say simply. “I am sorry, Solas. But even knowledge can be dangerous.”

He nods, disappointed. “And for the dreams? Whom have you seen?”

Maybe, just maybe I can play this off. Avoid talking about Wisdom. That just leaves…“I am not sure, it may be a demon, or someone else who wishes to toy with me.” He hears, nods, and acts like he doesn’t know. Who can play this longer?

“How can you be certain?”

I smile. “He wears a kind face, but something hides behind it. It is a mask, but not quite. It is a magic that is old, I feel it when I am near him.” I stand and circle the room slowly. How to word it, how to make it seem like I may not know…

“Folding the Fade to one’s will is not difficult for practiced Dreamers.” Solas says. “Although, it sounds as if you have met this man on more than one occasion. I would venture it is no demon, as they would have attempted to corrupt you by now.”

“That was my assumption as well.” Yes, yes! Make him play. “He has taught me much, shown me many things that are long forgotten by the People.”

“Oh?” He feigns curiosity. I see it though, the Trickster God, his mind whirling, gauging my words, my motions. “Such as?”

“The Great Library in Arlathan, many estates of the wealthy elvhen, we were once supposed to visit the temples, as I requested, but he insisted they were uninteresting.” I say. It was true, all of it. He had such distaste for the other Evanuris, even his Fade-self harbored ill will against them. “We read beneath a great willow tree, we discussed history, magic, the Fade…”

He watches me, eyes staring into my back as I walk. He doesn’t look away. Waiting, watchful, wondering how much I know. His aura pulses, his control is fading. It is curious, anxious, tense but elated.

He hunts.

The Dread Wolf hunts; and I am his prey.

“He sounds like an interesting companion.” He says, low, sultry. The voice is the same, that time, when lust so cruel left me wanting in the Fade. “If I did not know better, I would suspect you had some sort of connection to him.”

I laugh, my hair falling back from my shoulder, glittering in the firelight. “I am forced to spend my moments in the Fade with him. It took some time to figure out how to avoid it, to create my own way.”

His aura shutters, my words stung. He does not flinch. “It was unwanted then?”

“At first, I was scared.” I admitted, and this was the truth. “I did not know who he was, or what I was seeing. But in time…”

I stopped before the window looking out over the mountains. “In time, I could see there was more. He was not just a creature fueled by physical needs; he was not just a mask. In time…” I sigh. I don’t know how to say it. How to make it sound like I want it to. If he believes I do not know it is him…maybe this will work. “In time, that man, the one deep behind the façade of lust and gluttony, behind the luxurious fabrics and great wealth of his time... For the first time in so long. I feel.”

I didn’t want to look at him. I didn’t know how this confession would work. My heart was pounding, heavy, slow, elongated thrums of heat. My ears pulsed with blood that rushed too hard. No, no. I said too much.

He is quiet. I do not hear him move, and he does not speak. I cannot even hear him breathe. “I am sorry. I am certain you did not wish to know.” I blurt out quickly, turning to see him staring at me. His eyes damp, dark, distant, as if my words somehow sent him tumbling to the Fade.

“No, there is nothing to be sorry about.” He finally says, blinking and sending his thoughts to the present. “Things are easy in the Fade. Emotions, feelings, they are much stronger, unbearably so, at times.”

I nod. “Yes, they are. Easy and simple.”

He stands, adjusting his tunic. “It is late, lethallan, I will leave you to your rest.”

“Wait, Solas?” I call as he heads to the door. “Is it safe? To meet with him? Will I ever see past the mask?”

He smiles a little, looking down at his hand resting on the door pull. “When you figure out who he is, you will see his true self. Good night, Saeris.”

“Good night, Solas.” Good night, Fen’Harel; you’ve caught my scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am hoping to do a double post this week, because...well it's the holidays, and I love sharing!  
> Thank you all for the wonderful comments and compliments. May this season bring you much joy and happiness.
> 
> <3


	11. Chapter 11

Screaming.

 I was having a very pleasant conversation with the Fade-version of Solas when I heard it first. It shook me so badly I fell to the ground, and my companion was worried. When it happened again, I could see it in his eyes; he heard it too.

The cries echoed in my head well after I woke up. Unearthly, vivid, void-wracking cries; shaking my thoughts and rattling my senses. What could shake me so?

I had searched out Wisdom two nights in a row to find out, and found her missing from the glen in the Fade. Searching her out led to little, and I even asked my ‘friend’ in the Fade, and he, although feigning neutrality, shuttered at the mention of her disappearance. I feared the worst.

The knot in my stomach grew as I entered the rotunda, spying Solas with a cup of tea. I know this.

“Something wrong with your tea?” Maxwell asks, leaning on a corner of the desk.

“It is tea, I detest the stuff.” Solas snapped, placing the cup on the desk. “But, this morning I need to shake the dreams from my mind. I may also need a favor.”

“You? A favor? My friend, you hardly ask for anything.” Maxwell is trying to sound compassionate, but I see him notice me in the doorway, and I feel the slight twinge of jealousy spark in him.

Solas stands, pacing agitated in front of the desk. “One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages, forced into slavery. I heard the cries for help as I slept.”

No. Wisdom! I am carried from the room by feet I have little control over before I hear the rest of the familiar conversation. I bound up the stairs to my room, my bag pulled from my chest, and I stuff clothes and my medical kit in, and tie my robes to the outside. I need to be fast, I need to be unnoticed.

Even by Solas.

If I delay, Wisdom will die.

I am avoiding the inner circle members as best I can. I hide away my bag by the gate on the way to the stables. “Ah, Saeris, it is good to see you.” Blackwall greets, as he splits wood by the well. “You are up early, are you alright?”

“Yes, Blackwall, I am fine.” I answer. “I just hoped to take a mount out for some herb gathering. I want to get a solid store of potions before we go to the Exalted Plains.” I am sorry, Thom, but I must lie to you.

“Ah, well I am sure Dennet can set you up with something.” Blackwall smiled with a wave. “Good luck with your flowers.”

I wave and get myself a sturdy horse, one of the Orlesian varieties I believe. I lead it as nonchalantly out of the stable as possible, guiding it to the gate. I am almost out.

“Hey kid, where you off to?” Varric calls, his hands full of pages and writing implements.

“Herbs, for the next mission!” I call. “Healing potions, you know. I don’t want to burn out again.”

“Sounds exciting. Want company?” He asks, walking up to me.

“Ah, well, you look busy, and I’ll be back by nightfall. I will be fine. And it looks like you have bills to pay.” I note, poking at a rather ominous letter.

“Yeah.” He says, eyeing me suspiciously. “Sure, kid.” He starts to head back. “Hey, are you sure everything is ok? You are jumpy.”

“I’m fine, Varric, I swear!” I call, quickly tying my bag to the far side of the saddle. “As I said, nightfall!”

I mount, clumsily, but successfully, and trot out of the gates and down the path. I am sorry, everyone, but I cannot wait.

It is some time before I rest the sorry beast beneath me. Night had fallen some time ago, and I was a healthy distance from Skyhold. I rest, waiting at one of the smaller Inquisition outposts. I tell them I am a recruit, headed for the camps in the Exalted Plains, and they do not question me.

They still do not like elves randomly showing up at their camps, however.

I am met with little hostility, and am given a few hours in one of the tents to sleep. I am barely asleep when I am overwhelmed with the terrified screams of my spirit friend.

She is in agony, scrambling with her might to stay who she is. I can hear the voice change, straining against the shackles that are clasping it to the waking world. She is becoming a demon.

I am mounted and at full speed before sun up. By mid-morning, I am well within the Dales, and I discard my horse at an Inquisition camp.

My feet carry me faster than I had expected; the spirits that linger guiding my steps in haste. They worry, they feel the pain, they hear the call. So I run.

My aches and sore joints do not hinder me until nightfall, when I finally breach the first camp in the Exalted Plains. Two days of little sleep and less food finally make me stumble, and Scout Harding urges me to rest the night. She is suspicious of me, alone out here, when we were not expected for another four days. In fact, I am certain she sends word via raven as I retire to my bedroll. It does not matter, they can try to stop me, but they will not.

Daybreak comes and I am fed and packed. I take a fast glance at the map the scouts had compiled. There is a river, to the north, a Dalish camp will be there…yes, and the path behind, it will lead to where the mages are.

Where the bandits are.

Where Wisdom will change to Pride.

I take off at a steady jog, passing halla and wolves alike, without difficulty. I avoid the passing bands of burglars and Freemen with unprecedented ease, and hide from the demons erupting from the rift, running with all my might from the magic that dares to catch me.

The smell of burning flesh comes first. Then the shattering sound of ice on stone, and the thunder of lightening spells. I round the wall of stone, and see the battle. Three mages versus eight visible bandits; I never saw the odds in the game. The mages were in the open, the bandits hid behind the rocks and ruins. No wonder they were desperate.

But this was too far.

Then I saw her.

She was still mostly her; green human shaped, eyes glowing like green stars. But her skin, it shattered, it broke, and from the shoulder I can see the hardened armor plating grow. Pride’s armor, hard and strong, raking and breaking, pulling my friend apart.

How do I fix this? The mages are surrounded. I am just one mage, if I cast even once…

Wisdom wails, I can hear it, grinding, growling, gritting teeth against the pain. Her barely physical form shakes, wracked with the pain no mortal could imagine.

The heat, the stirring of mana deep in my core, the pulse of it in my veins…it becomes intense, almost unbearable. Wisdom will not die this day.

It flows from me, firing with deadly precision and ruthless discrimination. The magic is wild, strong, beautiful; it is mine. The bandits fall first, they try, of course, to fight back. They fire their bows, slash and charge at me, throw rocks even, at the end. Ultimately, they all bleed out onto the destitute and deserted plains.

Then the mages.

I don’t want to kill them. But hey hurt her. “Free. Her. Now.” I growl, my hands still sparking with the mana pent up in my blood. “The spirit, you blighted fools.”

“Are you crazy? The demon will kill us!” one of them cries. I focus on him, the magic is raging, hot, angry, do not cross me, stupid mortal.

“I said free her.” They do not move. The energy blasts from me, expelling them from me in a sudden force. My eyes burn. I must free her myself. The binding circle is there, she is changing, withered, crouched, doubled in pain, waiting, wishing for it to just…stop.

One by one, I crash down the stone spires of the binding.  As the last one tumbles I run to her. “My friend, please, hold on. It is alright.” I embrace her. I will her to take what energy she needs from me. I feel her shiver, her body not quite solid, but too physical to dissipate into the shapeless form she was.

“Run.” I growl, not turning to the mages I feel staring into the back of my head. I push the anger down, bury it, quench it beneath the cooling notion that this time, I won. “Run, and if I catch you binding one single spirit, I will end you all.”

Laughing. Someone is laughing.

Then Wisdom fades in a flash of brilliant white light.

_~*~_

_It is so dark._

_The Fade makes nothing for me; nothing to ease the fiery pains that course through each bone and vein. It is dark, damp, like a dungeon. Barred and empty._

_“Not alone. Never alone.” Wisdom whispers somewhere. “Child, you must wake up!”_

“Well, well. What have we here?” A woman’s voice sneers. Pain, sharp, jabbing  my jaw. “Here I had thought I’d catch a handful of mages for master, but no…”

My left eye opens, the right is swollen shut. It is dark, a fire blazing in a stone ring a few yards in front of me. I am lashed to a stone, unable to move. I try to cast any spell, and electric shocks wrack my body. They have the same shackles—ones that dampen magic. Probably stolen from Templars. My wrists burn from the iron, my body is barely strong enough to observe my surroundings.

The mages; there are four, they laugh, drinking, swearing, wearing armor. Mages don’t wear armor. These are different, different from the ones I remember from the game.

Three bodies lay huddled on the other side of the fire, tied together, bloodied. One woman, two men; yes, those were the ones who were supposed to be there.

“I see you’ve worked it all out. What a smart thing you are.” The woman’s voice laughed. “Master will be quite pleased when I bring the Inquisitor’s pet. I wonder if he’ll make you dance like the others. You are such a pretty thing…” she lifts my head with the butt end of a staff. She is cloaked, her face hidden in shadow.

She made some motion and water was brought, and forced into my mouth. I choked, swallowed what I could, the rest dripping down my now barely clothed front. They laughed as I spattered out metallic water and grit. Wisdom was nowhere to be seen.

At least she is safe.

“Boss, what do we do with her?” one of the ‘mages’ asks.

“We are going to take her to Corypheus himself.” The woman answers. “He will be quite pleased with us, having brought him the thorn in his side.”

I am going to see him. Alone.

No. I cannot stand against him! I am still learning! I still have to save them!

My body won’t move, it is heavy, hurting, hot, broken and bound. They see me struggle, and they laugh. My magic burns me, inside it boils, it churns and crashes against my ribs; I’d scream if I could move my lips.

“Hush now, pet. It won’t be long.” The woman chides. “Do not break her…much. She needs to be alive when we present her.” She gags me with a shred of my own undershirt. The men look at me like wild dogs.

Don’t you dare lay a finger on me you filthy beasts.

The woman moves off, beyond the light of the fire and my single eye’s vision. To my relief, the men stay away, choosing instead to throw slurs and goading any rise from me. No, you do not have control of me. Not yet.

Be calm. Control yourself. Control the magic, or it will destroy you with those cuffs on. Yes, yes I can do this.

There is a cart outfitted with a cage, big enough to fit people in. The guards are outfitted fully, but not in high end armor and weaponry, except the leader. They are better trained than average bandits. Mercenaries perhaps? They have equipment to stop mages. I can make out the faint outlines of brands and leather straps; torture and marking tools.

Slavers.

The other mages stir, the attention of our captors drawn onto me. Perhaps they can escape. Yes, hopefully my brash attempt could save four lives. I try to cast again, a spell to heal myself, but the shackles flare to life, and I am shocked back down.

The men laugh. They call me stupid, call me knife-eared bitch, tell me to go, try again, it is amusing to watch me squirm when the shackles shoot me up. Each jolt, I wake up. I hear more, and they see less.

We are still by the river. The mages are tied by the edge of camp, and have a clear way out; if they jump from the short cliff, they could swim to safety. We may not have moved more than a few yards from where I made my stand earlier this day. Perhaps even, just around the bolder I am still tied to. I hear no sounds of the Dalish camp that should be nearby. Either they do not know, or they are choosing not to see it. Surely their hunters would be around. The grass is damp from dew, but otherwise dry. Halla graze nearby; the men discuss killing one for dinner.

The leader, that…woman, I hear her speak. She is alone in her tent, perhaps a communication crystal? She beckons her master. Then, then I hear the voice of Corypheus answer.

Her voice is low, quiet, but I can just make out the gist of the conversation. She tells it…or is it him? That she captured me, the ‘plaything’ of the Inquisitor, the one that had been foretelling events so the Inquisition could have the upper hand. She is congratulated, and it—he—laughs. It is some victory, having caught the most powerful mage in the Inquisition.

Apparently the enemy thinks I am the strongest mage here. Hah, foolish magister. But how do they know? I have been with Inquisition forces the entire time, I have spoken about the events of this war with no one except Maxwell and the War Council.

But the officers would know; they would be in the loop. Trickle down from there, information to the ‘need to know’ members…

We have a spy.

I am to be brought to him, somewhere in the Arbor Wilds; where I can be broken, and molded to his cause. I will make a far better suited vessel than that hot-headed lyrium addict.

But I listen more. My heart racing with each new piece of information, I wait, I gather, I learn.  They haven’t found the temple yet, Mythal’s temple, where the Well of Sorrows lay. Where all of those sentinels will fall. Maybe, just maybe, I can get there first. Maybe I can warn them…

No, stupid. I have no idea where the temple is. I cannot let my guard down, lest they molest me in my sleep. So I cannot enter the Fade and ask directions to the temple.

All I can do is wait and learn. I try to flex my fingers, try to find a way to pick at the locks on the shackles, but it is impossible with how I am hanging from my wrists. I am seated, barely on the ground, my arms slung up over my head. My shoulder may be dislocated, but I cannot feel it, it looks bruised, swollen, and oddly shaped. My feet are weighed down, tied together with harsh biting rope, tied to a heavy metal ring. In my weakened state, it is difficult to even pull my knees to me, much to the men’s delight. I am wearing what remains of my undershirt, and my smallclothes. My robes had been taken, yes, when they got me. They must have stripped my gear when I was unconscious.

I had killed most of them. There were only the three fake mages and the leader. She had all the signs of a mage, and I would suspect, given her demeanor, she is a blood mage. I can’t count on the other circle mages; if they know what’s good for them, they will run if they manage to escape.

They will die keeping me here, if need be. I am a threat to the security of Corypheus’ master plan. If I knew better, I’d guess that my detention was more important than stopping the Inquisitor, because he is just a nuisance, his living a matter of pride; mine is a matter of success.

I sit, watching my captors. They eat, fling food inches from my reach to taunt me, drink too much and one by one, pass out around the fire. The waxing quarter moon is high in the sky by the time the camp falls silent.

The former circle mages quietly move in the shadows; they struggle against their bonds, unable to harness their trusted circle magic. I watch, weak from my day, my head slumped against my good arm. Please, please run.

The man who was “the foremost expert in the Kirkwall Circle”, a dark haired, pudgy man, somehow manages to wiggle free first. He is cautious, quiet, but selfish.

He leaves his comrades there. They only protest in expressions of fear and worry, as he slips off, skirting the camp, and heading back the direction I came in, toward the river behind me. They whisper, quiet, too quiet for me to hear. I don’t know how long they wait, but eventually they fall asleep, resting against the wheel of the caged caravan.

Now would be my only chance to sleep. I pull my legs up close, it takes time, and the metal weight makes a lot of noise in the still night. As the night slowly turns to a light blue at the horizon, I give in to sleep, knowing the hot sun will wake me long before the denizens of this horrid camp.

_I wait. Still, silent, shifting in the dark damp; but I cannot move. I have no body to move. I just exist, alone, in the dark._

_“Not alone. Strong, strained, still outside, but still trying…”_

_Cole._

_“Yes, friend. Wisdom came, told me. I told them. They come.”_

_It is so dark, I am so tired._

_“Bindings, bidding you to break, stopping you from the Fade.” Cole answers. “But you are stronger. You are more.” He continues._

_What am I? I remember the dream, the spirits made…_

_“You.”_

_Made me? I remember the burning, my skin, my bones, burning and it is dark…_

_“We made you. You are as much the Fade as me. But you are more. You have a real soul, foreign, unchained and unsoiled, we melted it with the Fade, made it stronger, tighter, wiser.” Cole says slowly._

_I don’t understand._

_“You are like them, the ones he wants to free.” Cole said. “But stronger. You are original, unique, and you will help them.”_

_I am like them…I am an Evanuris? How? I am not so strong…_

_“Evanuris is just a name. They were people, like you. The first were made, built from the Fade. Like you.”_

_Then why am I not able? Why am I tied and broken, constantly fallen, fractured, feigning strength when I should be strong?_

_“You stop it; you stop the strength, silent songs making you believe you are only small and powerless.”_

_I stop myself? I do not understand…How can I save him if I cannot even use the power I have!?_

_“You already help.”_

_But Solas…_

_“You will help him the most.” Cole says with a smile in his voice. “You always help him most. His hurt is deep, and you touch it, even without knowing.”_

The air feels different. The Veil tingles, thin on my skin. Something is very wrong.

“Get up, you lazy blighters,” the woman growls, kicking one in the back with the sharp metal toe of her boot. “What do you get paid for? One of them escaped, you imbeciles!” She throws her hands up in obvious frustration. “Fasta vass, you are useless!”

The men scramble to their feet. My groggy, sleep filled eye still adjusting to the blinding sunlight bombarding my face. The two other mages are picked up by one of the men.

“Find them, or you are all dead!” the leader screams. She stomps to me, grabbing me my the throat to lift me to my feet. “You, my pretty, are with me. Serves me right to trust them with precious cargo.” She cuts the bindings from my feet, standing me upright. I lean against the bolder, my arm falling awkwardly as the wrist bindings fall slack. It is clearly dislocated, but my pain still doesn’t register. One final squeeze at my throat, forcing me to look the woman in the eye. She’s elven. Dark, black eyes, sunken in, creased with wrinkles from stress and time, weathered skin like leather, laced with sunspots and dust, fire red hair cresting the hairline at her forehead, almost hidden beneath the hood. “Try to escape, my pet, and you’ll regret it.”

She takes up the lead from my shackles, and shoves me forward. Soon, she is practically dragging me.

The air shifts again. The Veil grows ever tighter, thin, the Fade is slipping through. Something is not right. There are no rifts here. I feel the power, the force behind the disturbance. Then we crest the hill.

No. NO!

The summoning circle was reconstructed, the mage, that pudgy, useless, ignorant fool summoned another demon.

It was Pride. And then I know, I failed.

No! My friend!

Somehow, the two other mages had gotten free, Pride now smashed and flailed at two of the surviving slavers. They were going to die. The three mages hid behind some rocks, occasionally flinging a measly fire or ice spell at the bandits. You fools!

I struggle, pulling with all my strength against the mage that holds me fast, I scream, the wail little more than a sharp bark from my weak and dried lungs. The woman tries to cast with one hand, the other holding my chains tight, and my struggle proves too interfering.

She shoves me, hard, my head cracking against a stone. My vision tunnels into darkness, as I see the leader charge toward my friend, lips already spouting incantations.

With one ditch effort, as the last spot of vision closes, I muster the last of my strength to cast one blast of magic at that blood mage. I grit my teeth against the massive bolts of electric fire that all but stop my heart as the spell leaves me, hopefully finding its target before I am lost to unconsciousness once more.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays everyone! I hope you had a wonderful solstice. Here is the next installment!

The air changes; the tingle on skin when the Veil is thin, replacing the warm morning air. I feel the mana bursting in the air. My ears are ringing, muted, like I am under water. Arms won’t move, legs won’t move.

Somewhere, I hear Wisdom scream, as the last of her purpose is swallowed by Pride.

I open my eye to the spark of clashing swords. Cassandra.

She stands in front of me, her back to me, fending off a slaver. It is the blood mage, and she is losing. I can sense Cassandra’s anger, her fear, not for herself, but for me.

“She is injured, pray she still lives!” How do I hear her?

Two sources of magic, I feel the auras, one is Solas; he is to the right. I feel his gentle shell of magic around me.  The other is the Anchor, and I recognize the hum it makes, even over the roaring battle. Maxwell howls a war cry unlike any I had heard; I see him dart, sword drawn toward the hooded woman, who in turn flings raging spells at him.

Cole comes, cradles me on his lap, blocking my view from the storm of a battle raging behind him.

He brushes the soaking hair from my face, and I hear him say, “You are safe, friend. You do not need to see.”

I am too weak, too tired, too broken to protest.

I see spirits, wisps, bouncing around us. The others don’t see it. Maybe it is my connection to the Fade? Maybe it is my broken body? Wisdom appears, she smiles, and bends close to my face, and whispers, “Thank you, my dear friend.”

Then, it is quiet.

“She was beaten…” Cole said, his eyes tearing up. “She will feel that hurt, but she doesn’t remember.”

Cassandra slides in across from Cole, bags already open, and her hand full of healing potions. I am broken, tired, hungry, but I am alive.

And I discovered something.

Corypheus knows I live. And he wants me.

Suddenly the pain starts new. The nerves having been repaired, suddenly I can feel everything. My muscles convulse, and I scream uncontrollably. I can hear it erupting from me, but it is like I am just watching from inside. I cannot stop it. I can only feel it, and accept.

I reach for Cole’s collar, “Wisdom…she…”

His eyes are sad. “I am sorry. Solas had to…”

I failed. The one person I came to protect…I failed.

“It is not your fault, you tried to help,” Cole pleads, “Wisdom knew, she told him, you helped, but the mage-“

“Where is that bastard?” I grumble, trying to sit up. I scream instead, falling limp in Cole’s arms. Cassandra scowls and without warning yanks my arm, popping the shoulder back into place. It was far from pleasant, but my voice was already occupied with the pain expression from attempting to get up in the first place.

“Solas took care of them.” Maxwell says from behind Cole. He is bloodied from battle, his sword and shield still out. “I am sorry, Saeris. Your friend, she did not make it. Solas sent her on.”

The tears are freely forming in my eyes, trickling down my cheeks, stinging the cuts that litter them. “Is he alright? Solas, I mean.” I choke.

Stop crying, be stronger. You are stronger!

“He left.” Cole answered first.

“He wished to mourn alone.” Maxwell sighed. “He will meet us back at Skyhold when he is ready. I wish…”

“He didn’t have to be alone.” Cole finished. “If you were healthy you would go to him.”

“That’s enough, Cole.” Maxwell sighs, as he returns his weapon and shield to their rightful places. “I am sure he will be fine. For now we need to get you back to Skyhold. We have some serious talking to do.”

They make a makeshift stretcher from logs and fabric from the slavers belongings. Cole loots what is salvageable, including my robes and some manuscripts. I consider for a moment protesting being carried, but as I open my mouth both Cassandra and Maxwell say “Shut up, don’t argue.”

~*~

I am woken early, before dawn has laced her rosy fingers across the skies. My body is still weak, and broken. Without the strength to cast my own healing spells, I am left to heal naturally.

And simultaneously, mourn the loss of my friend.

I am hoisted into a carriage, Cole siting at my side. He says nothing, just holds my hand. He knows the sorrow. He just sits and holds me, so I do not face it alone.

How much time has passed? How long was I with the slavers? I was unconscious, dazed, but something doesn’t feel right.

“A week.” Cole answers weakly, reading my thoughts. “You left a week ago. The bad men took you three days before we found you.”

I was out a long time. Drugged? Beaten? I don’t remember.

As the carriage begins the journey to Skyhold, I look to my friend. “Sleep, you will be safe,” Cole assures me, removing his hat and hanging it over the window, to darken the space a little. I close my eyes, and slip away, back to the place I had learned to dream.

_The forest opens within the mists of the Fade. The haze parts slowly, dampening my tender skin and loose clothes. I made no attempt to dress myself here, because I knew it would be empty._

_The path circled the forest, silent and still. Even the moon did not shine, nor do the stars glitter to offer me light. Although a myriad of wisps dance around me, darting, drifting between the trees and entwining in my tangled knots of hair, the place is cold and lonely._

_I was not aware I had grown so fond of a spirit friend._

_The glen is dark, devoid of the light offered all the nights I had visited with Wisdom before. The log on which Wisdom sat still rests in the weeds and grass, covered by fluffy moss and wide-brimmed mushrooms. I can still see the vague outline of my body from where I had sprawled out in the grass, listening to her kind words and valuable lessons, where we debated and discussed._

_My eyes are hot, blurring with the resented sting of tears._

_I fall to my knees, and press my hand against the log where Wisdom had been. “I am sorry, my dear friend, “I whisper, my voice choking in the depths of my throat. “I wish I was stronger. I wish… I wish I had known what to do; you did not deserve this._

_“Wisdom, you have taught me much, guided and shown me so much more than I ever imagined. But now, now I understand. As much as I miss you, you gave me one more lesson; I had the intelligence to know the likelihood of my success…but now, I have the wisdom to know that no matter what I do, sometimes—without rhyme or reason—I will fail. And maybe…maybe that’s normal. Maybe this was what you wished Solas to learn.”_

_A sudden crunch of feet on grass stops my confession. I turn suddenly, my cheeks not hiding well the streams of tears that now freely flow._

_Solas._

_His shoulders are slumped, his face long and tired, eyes red and swollen. He looks almost surprised to find me here._

_He is wearing his sandy colored tunic and brown pants, having discarded his robes before sleeping, and not expecting me here, I assumed. But it is him, no mask, no magic to hide his face or his aura, standing there, barefaced and heartbroken._

_“I am sorry.” I whisper, standing suddenly, making sure my light cotton shift covers me. I wipe my cheeks clean, and fold my arms protectively over my chest. I am a little exposed._

_I start to walk from the glen, toward the path. “Don’t go.” I hear him whisper as I pass him. The words stop me in my tracks. I couldn’t tell if he meant to say it, or if he meant me to hear it. His eyes focused on the ground, or perhaps they were closed_

_Moments of silence passed, only filled by the rustle of the wind and the lapping of water on the shores of the lake nearby_

_He doesn’t try to hide it. At first, I wonder if he thinks I am just a memory, but then, with his eyes still flowing, his cheeks flushed with sorrow, he looks at me. His dark eyes pierce into mine, searching silently._

_I feel the same pain, and I carefully wrap my arms around him, my cheek against his chest, trying to control my tears and still his. Screw propriety, screw the idea of decency; if there was one thing I knew, it was what it felt like to lose someone close, and I have no qualms rebelling against the ideas of men, when someone is in pain._

_It feels like eternity, holding his slowly shaking resolve, before I feel his arms wrap slowly around my back, and I feel his breath, hot and haggard on my barely covered shoulder as his head falls to rest on me. He silently weeps, his tears soaking my shoulder, and he trembles._

_“Ir abelas, ma falon,” I whisper, my right hand resting to support the back of his neck. His aura wavers, quakes in my embrace, and I feel it loosen its steady and controlled nature. “I tried, and I failed. Ir abelas.”_

_He sits up, pulling away a little from me, but not so far as for my touch to not linger on his shoulders. “You saved my friend once, but it lingered too close and was trapped again,” he says finally. “It was no fault of yours.”_

_Stepping back, I glance at the log and the imprint of my body in the grass, and wipe away the tears that threaten to fall anew. “I wish I had known Wisdom longer,” I sigh, remembering the memory of my ‘creation’ and her promise to help me, “but I am thankful I was able to call it Friend.”_

_He nods, turning his back on the glen and walking steadily toward the forest path. “Solas,” I call after him, following closely behind him, “you do not have to be alone.”_

_He stops at the path, and turns suddenly to me, his face is shadowed and he makes no sound. In one swift motion, I am in his embrace again. My senses pick up the confused and rattled emotions in his aura. Part of me wonders if it would be wrong to confront him now._

_Then, soft, tender, warm lips brush my hairline in a simple, delicate kiss. My heart begins to pound in my chest, and I have to resist the urge to grab his tunic._

_“Thank you, Saeris,” he whispers, before releasing me._

_He kissed me! I merely stand and watch him fade into the mists of the Fade-forest, unable—no unwilling to break the moment._

~*~

“Tell me again what Corypheus said.” Leliana said, writing notes on a pad frantically. I sip some water from the glass at my bedside, and go over, again, the details I could recall from my capture. “He gave no names? No definite locations?”

“No, no names. But I am certain there must be a spy in our ranks,” I reply flatly. “There is no other way for Corypheus to know of me, or what I do here.”

“I will personally see to the review of all members who have access to this knowledge.” Leliana assures. “We will smoke them out, and then they will be taken care of. You need not worry, from now on you will be safe—as long as you don’t run off again.”

“About that…the Arbor Wilds…” I start, sitting up suddenly, “He is there, and they are headed to a temple there, where many lives will be lost if someone doesn’t warn them. They won’t listen to the Inquisition, they are…very secluded elves.”

“I have already received reports of activity in the Arbor Wilds. However, until we know what it is they are after, we cannot go in, it is too risky. My agents will be at a disadvantage, and likely killed without learning anything.” The spymistress tells me, standing and heading to the door. “I will see what can be done.”

“Wait, Leliana…”  She stops. “Thank you.”

She leaves, and I flop back into the pillows of my bed. I had been forced to bed rest for a week. Solas had not returned after the rescue attempt, and there was much to be concerned with as far as Corypheus was concerned. Now I am bored, sore, and worried, and staring at the ceiling.

I returned to the glen every night, hoping to find Solas there, hoping I could bring him some sort of comfort. Alas, each night I met only fog and heavy mist under starlight. I wanted to ask him why he deceived me; I wanted a lot of answers.

Mostly I wanted him to be alright.

The door opens and quietly shuts. I can feel the aura long before I see the physical body of the man walking into my chambers.

I am standing, walking to him before I realize I am in little more than a cotton shift and a robe. “Solas, are you alright?”

“It hurts, it always does.” He answers quietly.

“I am glad you returned, I was worried,” I want to hold him again, like in the Fade; I want to smell his scent, feel the warmth of his body…

“After all you have done, I could hardly abandon you now. Or the Inquisition.” A small sad smile crosses his lips. “There is much yet to do.”

I close the front of my robes to preserve what is left of my dignity. “Next time, you do not need to mourn alone.” I whisper, averting my eyes from his sad, tired face. “By now, I think you would know that you can rely on me entirely.”

“Thank you; it has been too long since I had anyone to trust.” His eyes look distant, his mind not in the moment.

“Solas,” I walk closer, his eyes snap to my face, almost as if he realized he was in the waking world. Maybe he was distracted by another thought? His face gives little away, and his aura has become oddly jumbled—mixed and mangled messes of emotions and feelings that rush around so quickly I cannot discern a single one in its entirety. “Solas, are you alright?”

“Has the Inquisition changed you? Altered you in any way; your mind, your…spirit?” He asks finally, breaking his eye contact away. I know this scene, it sparks a hot, anticipating memory in my mind.

“I would be lying to say it hasn’t,” I begin, attempting to ignore the warming sensation in my cheeks. “But to claim it has made me who I am is not true either. I am me, the Inquisition has just shaped how I see everything else.”

“I see. Surely the elves you were raised with had some part in that.” He said thoughtfully, walking out to the balcony overlooking the mountainside.

I join him, leaning slightly on the cold stone railing. “No, I was not raised by elves. From what I remember, I had a difficult life, one I wished to forget. The spirits were obliging, and I am here.” Not a lie, not entirely the truth. Don’t think about that, he might pick up on it. “I have seen enough death and sorrow in my lifetime, I simply decided not to let anyone else see it too.”

“You are confident, but there must be some of your upbringing influencing you. Perhaps I have misjudged the elves, and the humans.” His aura steadies, suddenly he is sure of something.

“Why do you ask, Solas?” I inquire finally, the flaming butterflies in my stomach attempting to burst from my throat.

“You are unique.”

“Thank you, I think. I do not see how I am so very different,” I chuckle.

“You have shown awareness of the world, a sense of wisdom and compassion that I haven’t seen since…since my deepest journeys into the Fade.” He is inching closer, his body heat permeating my thin robes.

The lump in my throat will not relent. “But what does this mean?” I choke finally.

“It means I have not forgotten our time in the Fade,” he smiles as I turn to face him. He is close, so, so close. If I inhale too deeply, my chest would graze his tunic. His aura flares suddenly to life, as if he released the dam that had been holding it barely at bay. It is wild, masculine, experienced and yet out of practice. His eyes darken with a surprisingly unexpected desire, and I immediately feel the dull ache of wanting build in my core.

Swallow, breathe, oh the scent of old books and herbs, dusted with long neglected pheromones.  The entirety of his aura enveloping me, caressing, gentle, cooling, guiding me closer. His chest is so close his tunic rubs the fabric over my breasts, and they behave accordingly. He smiles, feeling my unwilling response.

“Good, I haven’t either.” I smile up at him, my cheeks warm, and my heartbeat racing against my ribs. What I wouldn’t do right now for a little contact…

He turns to leave, and I grab his arm, “Don’t go.” I whisper. Familiar lines, remembered from long ago.

You do not need to be alone, my lovely wolf. You do not have to walk in solitude down this path you refuse to break from. Just don’t leave me behind.

 I feel him tense under my fingertips, his head shakes, and he sighs.

“It would be kinder in the long run.” He replies quietly. No, no it would not. I do not release my hand. “But losing you would—“

He is kissing me.

His hand is cupping my jaw, his lips hungrily searching mine; sweet, like berries, wrapped in smooth silken cream. His other arm wrapping about the small of my waist; guiding me in, resting me against his chest. My hand still holds his bicep, the other resting on his heart. The magic emanating from him pierces me, flows through me, energizing and healing me; life trickles into me, hot, wild, comforting, new, like I had never felt before.

I hadn’t felt before. Not like this.

Restrain, I have to remain collected, thoughtful. But his touch—the slightest brush of his fingers along my neck, sends arousing shivers down my body that I cannot contain. Everything else fades away; there is only Solas, and myself.

I feel him battling himself, part of him wants to give in; claim his price while the hunt is easy. The wolf in him, wild, dangerous, but confident and loyal, claws at him. Take her, TAKE HER! His aura flares, pulses with the beat of his heart, and the growing stiffness in his trousers.

He pulls away, his lips damp and swollen from my own. He stops now? My desires grow angry and frustrated within my core, and my smalls will need to be changed before I leave these chambers, now that they are wet with my own arousal.

“You…are so beautiful.” He whispers, brushing rogue hairs from my eye. “Thank you.” And he, reluctantly it seems, releases his hold on me, stepping back. I stumble a little, the absence of his body suddenly making me uneasy on my feet. He stops but a moment to look back at me in the doorway, before he exits with a soft smile.

For the first time in so long…I feel free.

Finally I exhale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of you were hoping that Wisdom had been saved, sorry! The story sorta wrote itself this chapter.
> 
> Also, first kiss! Yay!
> 
> I always enjoy the comments I get from you guys, so don't be shy!
> 
> <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!  
> I am really nervous about this chapter, because I have NEVER written sex scenes before. It took me ages to finish it, but here we go!  
> **NSFW**

It has been nearly a month since my attempt to save Wisdom. I was distraught, even above my own injuries. As a result, my dreams were erratic, wild, as if flung into the Fade; making me relive parts of that day, making me see the grove, the memories she shared with me, or just driving me forward into the world beyond sleep.

Cole stayed by my side most days. Often, he would be instantly by my side in the Fade, telling me I had to be strong, that I didn’t need to suffer. He tried to ease my pain. He worried, drifting between my bedside and perched on the couch. He insisted it was not my fault, that even Wisdom knew this would happen; I did nothing wrong.

Then, there were nights with Solas. Often, I found him accidentally, as I was not in control of where I seemed to land in the Fade.  We were kindly distracted by discussions of the ways of the ancient elvhen and the way the world once was.  We spent many nights side by side, talking about history, about philosophy, and the nature of mortality and men.

The light is peeking through the curtains, casting a sparkle of sunlight onto the bedspread. It eases my mind into focus.

I knew we would soon be setting out again; the Emerald Graves called us. I knew that we would need to venture there to disrupt the supply of red lyruim, effectively cutting off Samson’s supply of the corruption to his troops.

I also knew that there was a ruin I wished to see.

During one particularly dreary day, Dorian brought to my attention an old manuscript describing some spell that results in a similar barrier. Coincidently, it also mentions Fen’Harel. The parchment is faded and the ink is barely legible, but there is something about a private building of some sort that belonged (perhaps by extension) to the elf god. It took little work to discern where the ruins would be, and within the week, I had a general idea of where to start.

The question was, how to search them without letting on? Solas may be accepting of me, but if I let him find out what I am doing…

He may try to stop me.

And he’d win.

So I pack my notes away into my travel gear. A path will open to me; I just need to keep going. Yes, positivity. I won’t be attacked, I won’t be kidnapped again. I will always have someone with me.

Maybe even the god Himself.

The sun proves warm and inviting. I change into a simple sage green dress, and with a little effort, I manage to wrap my legs from foot to my knee as the ancients once did—how Solas continues to do—and brush my unruly mess of hair. It is too frustrating to do anything with it, so I leave it down, bringing some ribbons to tie it back with later if I need it.

At lunch I am summoned to the council room, and find my friend with his war council, discussing ventures into the Emerald Graves.

“I also have business in the Emerald Graves.” I announce as a lull in conversation starts. “I have some promising information on a ruin there from around the age the orb was created.”

“I have seen no such report—“ Leliana starts.

“That is because I didn’t write one,” I interrupt. “Since it is a matter that I am fairly confident only a few of us could truly understand, I saw no point in it. Plus, the fewer the people know, the better.”

Maxwell is smiling like I made him proud. “And this ruin, what do you hope to find?”

“Magic,” I say. How to word it, can’t say the real answer, Maxwell talks too much…”I want to see if I can find the same magic that created the orb. If I can study it, maybe I can figure out how to undo the Anchor, once we no longer need it,”

“Or it kills the Inquisitor,” Cullen adds with a sigh.

“So I ask that you bring an extra person to accompany me in the Graves, Inquisitor,” I smile. “I have learned I am no longer safe alone, and I wish to still take this opportunity to help you.”

He looks thoughtful, tapping his chin with leather gloved fingers. “It is elfy stuff, right?”

Childish. He grins like a teenager poking fun at the girl he likes. “Yes, it is an ancient Elvhen ruin.”

“I will send Solas with you.”

Well, this is going to be complicating.

But I will also be alone with Solas.

My heart races, and I feel the damning heat rush to my cheeks. Maxwell just smirks at me, and they continue their conversation.

We leave at daybreak.

~*~

“You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?” Dorian asks me as I load my notes and books into my backpack at the forward camp in the Emerald Graves. “I do not wish to cause any undo worry, but you don’t know what is out there.”

I smile, shoving the last item into the pack and cinching it closed. “Actually I do; there are giants, rifts, red Templars, demons, and those Freemen from the Dales.”

I smirk as I tighten down the ties on my battle robes. Solas had them fashioned for me in Skyhold; he said they were reminiscent of the type he saw in the Fade in the memories of Arlathan. I also knew the materials he would have had to find to craft such a robe; the runes alone were expensive. And he would not let me pay for it.

“That is not easing my worry, my lovely,” Dorian sighs, leaning heavy on his shiny metallic staff. “Even with company, I just want you back safely.”

“Oh yeah, and a high dragon! Trust me, Solas wouldn’t let anything hurt me.” I kiss him on the cheek and sling the pack on my back.

He looks around and a devilish grin lines his lips. “Any plans then, princess?”

“Plans?”

“You two will be alone. You haven’t had any company in…well since you arrived.” Dorian’s eyes sparkle with the sort of mischievous nature I’d expect from demons, but I know full well he just knows more than I give him credit for.

“Hah, my dear friend. As much as I would be obliging if the opportunity arises, and Creators know that I have wished it, I will let things play out as they are meant to.” I pat his shoulder and lean down to grab my staff from its resting place against a stump. “Trust me, you’ll know if it happens.”

“You’re damn right I will.” Dorian laughs, ruffling my hair with one hand, then brushing it back down again. “And I’ll expect all the details.”

“Are you ready, da’len?” Solas asks from across the camp. He stands with Maxwell and Cassandra, looking over at me.

“One moment!” I answer back, waving. “Behave, Dorian. And make sure Maxwell gets back to Skyhold. If I find something, I want him alive to use it.”

“Do you doubt me? I am hurt.”

I swat his shoulder and jog to my travel companion. “Alright boys, let’s get going before the sun rises too much further.”

Maxwell, Cassandra, Varric, and Dorian, march in the direction of the camp to meet with Fairbanks, some mysterious refugee that has been housing escapees. When they are clear from view, I finally turn to my travel partner.

“Well then, Solas, any good memories to share while we walk? It will be a dreadfully long trip in silence.” I smile, taking up one final apple from the camp stash, and taking a healthy bite from it. “I do love your tales.”

He watches me eat, his face cured into that familiar expression uninterested amusement. His eyes, and the flux of his aura, on the other hand, leave his thoughts plain as day. His eyes watch as a heavy drop of fruit juice drips down my chin, following the curve of my neck, down the front of my chest, disappearing into the tight space between my breasts.

It will be sticky later.

“I was going to ask you, da’len,” Solas answers, picking up his staff and heading toward the path from camp. “What sparks your sudden interest in ruins?”

Think. The closer to the truth you are the better. He can feel your lies as easily as you feel his. Probably better! He has eons more experience.

I chew the last bit of apple and toss the core into the bushes, trotting up beside my handsome companion. “Ruins yes, but mostly the ancient elves and their magic.” I keep my pace, getting a handful of paces in front of him. “I have always had an interest, Solas,” I say, leaning in a little too close to his ear as I pass.

It sounded more seductive than I intended. It was too late, and I am sure he noticed it too. “That is not truly an answer, Saeris.”

Then a thought crosses my mind. The wispy wolves of magic, playing on the bed back in Crestwood. 

He tries to pass me, so I speed up.

It is just a jog at first. “Da’len…” Solas sighs, it sounds like a warning, but that small part of me, the one still longs to be free—the energy of all living things, the magic of the Fade—drives me to play. Over my shoulder, I see his face come to life. No longer does he wear that mask of disinterested neutrality, no longer is he staring past the speaker, or lost in his mind. No, now he looks alive, as the branches and leaves whip past his face, his lips curled up in a bright smile, his eyes darting, wild, wandering, watching, dark and excited.

Watching me.

My feet bound and leap, running, racing, playing hard to get. He catches up, I dash forward. He Fade steps ahead, I find a fallen tree to race up, bridging over the dried river bed that slows him down. I hear him streaming elvish curses, playful, benign, and I grin, my lungs burning with the strain of persistent use. Adrenalin and the warmth of the temperate air fueling my surge onward.

Then, I do not sense him.

I am alone.

I am unsure of exactly where I am. I perch upon a large boulder, and wait. The rush of my high still coursing through my veins as I steady my heavy breaths and listen.

All I hear is wind, the call of birds, and the gentle hum of bugs in the canopy.

Part of the game.

A sudden crash and my chest is empty of air, and I tumble from the rock, down the embankment, rolling entangled in the other body, finally landing in a shallow stream. The bellow of glorious and beautiful laughter from my companion makes me ignore the bruises and sore spots from my roll down the hill. Solas is sitting perched, like I had been, on a stone, completely dry, laughing contently, having detangled himself from me somewhere along the fall.

“You leave yourself open, Saeris,” he chuckles and stands, offering me his hand. “And you have not paid attention to where we were headed.”

I take his hand.

For a moment I consider pulling him into the water, just to get him wet. Where did this playful streak come from?

Once on my feet, I get to the shore and remove my slightly wet packs. The sun is directly overhead now. I must have run for quite some time. “Not bad on your feet, for a so called old hobo elf,” I sneer.  “You are more wolf than elf, by how you run.”

Why did I say that? If I am not careful, he’ll suspect I know…

“Speak for yourself, da’len,” he replies, also removing his packs and digging out a water canteen and filling it in the creek. “You were much more agile than I am accustomed to. It was a delight to witness you free.”

My face heats up. “Thanks.”

What a stupid response.

He drinks the water, tendrils of it dripping down his chin and neck, soaking into the collar of his robes. I never noticed how chiseled his neck muscles were, or how sharp his laryngeal prominence bobs when he swallows…

“It is the truth. However,” he starts, refilling the bottle and replacing it onto his pack, “that does not help us get any closer to our destination.”

Right. I’m not here to play.

There are no distinct land marks, and the Emerald Graves are littered with a network of streams and creeks. Until I found the road or a landmark, I didn’t know where we were.

Well shit.

“I guess I got a bit carried away.” I admit, defeated. “It felt so good to be free. Even if it was just running.”

His eyes focus on me as I perform a few spells to dry my robes and my pack. I sense something from him, admiration perhaps?

“You have been forced into a space that does not fit you,” he tells me as I unwind my leg-wraps. “Someone like you should be able to wander where you choose, free to decide what fate would suit you. Free to feel the wind on your lips and the Fade in your hair.”

I drop my wraps in a pile on the grassy forest floor. “I would not be so lucky, Solas. But it is a path I chose, nonetheless.”

We sit there for a while, nibbling on dried fruit and nuts, but otherwise silent. I know he watches me; his aura probing me gently, searching for answers to whatever queries he holds in his thoughts.

“What do you search for, Solas?” I ask quietly after some time.

His aura pulls back sharply, winding itself around him tight. “I am sorry. Normally people do not notice it. I have forgotten you are not normal people.”

I stifle a chuckle and pack away the food. “You did not answer my question.”

“Neither did you.” He answers, standing and picking up his pack and staff, heading toward an animal path.

We start walking again, this time at a more manageable pace. “So, Saeris, tell me what specifically you hope to uncover.”

“A solution to the anchor issue.”

“What sort of solution could a ruin possibly hold?” Solas inquires. He seems genuinely interested in my answers, and I feel no resistance or hesitance from him.

“I hope that if I can understand the magic of the time, perhaps I could find a way to remove it from the Inquisitor, or at least stop the damage it is causing.” I circle around a large tree, looking out for giants or other beasts I know roam the zone. “In order to fully understand the magic, I need to understand the practitioners of that magic. Does that make sense?”

“It does.” He says from behind me. “It is a wise course of action for such a dangerous undertaking. Are you not afraid of causing more damage when attempting to remove it?”

Yes. But I can’t admit to that.

“Sure, there is a chance.” Nonchalant, that’s the way to go. Show pride, show self-assuredness. “But if I do not try, he will die, or at the very least will lose a limb.”

“You care for the Inquisitor?” He climbs nimbly over a fallen tree.

I hop over, landing with a graceless thud in the soft dirt on the other side. “He is a dear friend, if that is what you ask.”

He hikes in front of me now; steady, paced, practiced, patient. “No, that is not what I am asking.” His shoulders remain firm, straight, hiding the concern—no the fear of…of what?

My answer?

“He is no more than a friend who happens to be an attractive man.” I say. His head bobs in an affirmative nod. But his aura, tight against his body shimmers with…with…

Happiness?

We travel in relative silence for several hours, pausing to pick elfroot, or avoid bands of Red Templars. Once, we had to circumvent a glen due to a rather grumpy giant, who was fighting off some of those deserters from the Orlesian soldiers. Finding our way was not difficult, Solas, as it turns out, knew a spell to show our position on the map in the manuscript. Travel was quick, but quiet. It was not an awkward silence, not for me. I got the impression he was trying to process something, or perhaps, remember something.

Like how to court a woman.

No, a kiss is not the same. He was just….

“Saeris.”

I had been so focused on my thoughts I did not notice the shift in the air; the Veil was thin here, so thin I could see wisps darting between the darkened brush and playing among the wild flowers. Tall, crumbling stone pillars peeked from the brush and trees, covered in healthy coats of crawling vines. I stop and see Solas, his palm pressed on a large stone slab. It is the remnants of an old building, and I could faintly make out the etchings of elvhen script, and flakes of bright paint that still cling beneath the moss and ivy.

The wisps dart around me, landing in my hair and hanging from my backpack. The sun, nearly fallen beneath the tree line, paints the underbrush in gold and pink, making the shimmering magic of the writing on the stone glow with silvery light.

“I do believe this is your destination.” Solas smiles, running his fingertips along the text, his lips barely mouthing the words. The wall is extensive, although crumbling under the weight of trees and time, but a clear outline of a large hall glitters before us nonetheless. Between the patches of grass and dried leaves, the faint but sturdy stone slabs of the entrance walkway still rest, the mosaics still shimmer beneath the debris.

I barely notice myself moving until I feel it. The magic of this area pulses like a heartbeat, it seeps into my soul, mixing with me, and I with it. The Fade was very real here. I could see the tendrils of magic weaving about this place as if the Veil had never been lifted. Everything looked brighter, greener, healthier. More alive.

Solas is wandering silently, and I watch him disappear into the shadows of an overgrown doorway. My mouth is agape in awe, and I have to consciously close it before I drool on myself.

“Yes…I believe it is.” I whisper, the sensations almost overpowering my need to think.

~*~

“Why do you feel the need to do it, personally? You did not know him prior to coming to the Inquisition.”

Solas prods the fire in the pit with a stick, resting on his elbows. The stars are out, twinkling between the leaves in the darkened forest. I turn my head from its resting place on the rolled up blanket, where I had been watching a few stars as we talked after dinner.

“Who else will?” I ask plainly. I roll onto my side to face the fire. It is too bright. “For all the weight that boy has carried, no one has asked him what he wanted for his life. I wish to give him the opportunity to live a normal life once this is done. Whatever that is, I want him to have a life of his own choosing; he deserves that much.”

I tuck my bedroll into the corner of the room we had designated as our camp, and unroll the blanket. He is watching me as I unfasten the clasps on my armor and shed it off, leaving only a loose tunic, brown trousers, and leg-wraps. I hear him shift in his seat, adjusting himself on the stone.

“An admirable goal.”

With a swift and deliberate movement I cast a barrier around the camp. He removes his robes as I work.

Focus! No staring!

Once free of his armor, he returns to the stone floor. He leans against the wall, legs stretched toward the fire, watching me climb into my bedroll.

“All people deserve to be able to choose their path, Solas.” I lay back, watching the stars again, twinkle in the midnight abyss. I keep talking as my eyes grow heavy, and a yawn muddles my words. “Yes, one might lose their way; make mistakes and fall, but everyone should get that chance. But I feel there is always a way to get back to that path, without tearing down the forest on the way.”

I said too much. I hear him shift, feel his eyes turn from me. Ashamed? I don’t know. I fall into the Fade before I have the chance to ask forgiveness.

_Solas was not in the Fade with me._

_My mind wanders._

_I focus, make it real._

_I put my energy into the dream, but I do not shape it; tonight I let the spirits decide what I need to see in my dreams…_

_It focuses…Solas, standing tall, wearing the old luxuries of our dreams; open billowy tunic, tight trousers, barefoot, only now, his auburn hair is gone, replaced by the familiar bare baldness I had grown so fond of.  His eyes were dark with want, and even at this distance, I could see the straining of the fabric at the apex of his pants._

_Wordlessly, he takes my hand, kisses a knuckle with grace, and leads me from the library. Up a flight of stone lined stairs, down a hall, to a darkened corridor, lined with heavy blue curtains, and into a large room, furnished with a gloriously large bed, the coverings already turned down, inviting us._

_The Fade is so vivid, I can feel it in my soul. With swift accuracy, he pulls me in, tight against his body, and hungrily kissing my lips. The heady scent of his musk filling me with fiery desire; hormones I had been neglecting finding new strength against my quickly silenced restraint. The sexual tension finally catching up to me. His steady hand entwines in my hair, tugging it just enough to tip my face toward his._

_I swell and moisten, and feel the pulsing of my sex, eager to give entrance, to be filled._

_It has been too long._

_Without breaking our contact, his strong arms lift me, walking to the bed, seating me carefully on the plush mattress. He urges me back, and I allow myself to be led, his lips still exploiting the readiness of my own. I do not move fast enough, however, and he breaks the kiss to worship the tender flesh of my neck, using one hand to lift me again, the other to walk us backward, until I am entirely splayed on the bed beneath him_

_I could feel the ridge of his desire against my outer thigh. Gently, he pulls the dress up, and with that hand, he traces up the inside of my leg to the junction of my thighs._

_His careful index finger strokes me. Circling once, feather soft. I shudder, the dampness of my dripping sex soaking into the calloused hands that eagerly explores me. Twice._

_I moan into his ear, my hips rocking to his touch. I love the gentleness…but a silent voice demands harder, faster, wanting release…._

_Again, and again…_

_Steady, slow, methodical, like the dances of the ancients._

_Clumsily I fumble with the ties at his waist, my fingers not heeding the demands of my distracted mind. Moments, what seem like hours pass tugging at the ties. Fed up with the traditional methods, this is my dream. With a flick of my wrist, the pants are gone, and my hands are free to explore the flesh of his thighs._

_My hands slide up, raising his shirt to his shoulders. He breaks from my neck to remove the shirt. He is now naked above me, one hand glistening wet with my essence. With a charming and devious smile, he snaps, and my dress is obliterated into nothingness._

_And then his finger slid deep inside me and he pressed his palm to my mound. I continue to rock against his hand, his erection sliding against bare thigh, his fingertip inside me messaging my point of desire._

_Solas’s eyes pierce me, following my every heavy breath, watching my chest as the sweat begins to form a glistening sheen between my breasts. With firm, deliberate kisses, he tastes my breasts, nibbling, sucking, caressing every delicate inch of me. A warm, rumbling groan erupts from his lips, a satisfied noise, as he eases his way up to catch my lips in his._

_His finger withdraws, and I whimper, bereft; but an instant later he parts my thighs with his knee, easing himself between my thighs. His careful hand continues its course about my sensitive clitoris, before two fingers slowly press their way inside. I uncontrollably cant my hips toward his hand._

_Slowly he removes his hand, and I am desperately empty. His hardness presses against my core as he lowers himself gently onto me, his lips still seeking refuge with my own. I feel myself grinding my hips upward, wanting to find my prize with the pleasure of his hardened desire.  He groans; the pressure and friction of my gyration adding more fuel to the fire burning within us both; the rumble in his chest vibrating into mine._

_He leans on one forearm, the other hand grabbing a handful of muscle on my thigh, lifting my hips up off the bed, tilting my pelvis toward him. Following the same rhythm as his hand earlier, he pushes his hips, his length easing into me, little by little with each gentle thrust._

_I can feel my core tighten, easing ever closer to my release as he is hilted deep within me. I feel him pulse, hot and hard, his heavy, haggard exhale dusting my closed eyelids.  He whispers my name, as he pulls slowly out and back in, grinding into my farthest depths. My skin crawls with excitement, and my hands find themselves grasping at his muscled back in some attempt to pull him even deeper._

_Perhaps it is the Fade, or maybe the lack of attention to my femininity, but this slow, dangerously deep undulation of his rocking hips builds me quickly toward my climax. My fingers dig into his back, and he grunts, his pace quickening._

_Vhenan—_

_The word, breathy and deep lay low the last of my ability to restrain myself further. My core clenches, and I fall into waves of release, his pace gaining speed with each wave. As I tighten, I feel him tense, a primal string of elvish slips through his panting lips as he spills into me. Together we pulse, my body encasing his, until the sensations subside and I open my eyes. Solas smiles, his chest still regaining a normal rhythm of breathing, and he simply says “I love you,” kissing my swollen lips._

_With a few quiet breaths, I release my hold on the Fade, and my dream slips away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, I did it. More to come, I promise.
> 
> I hope everyone of you lovely people had a great holiday, and I wish you all the best for the year to come.
> 
> <3


	14. Chapter 14

I am waking up. I do not want to open my eyes yet. Too comfortable.

I still see his face; I still feel his release, his pleasure.

Even if it is just in my own head.

It takes me a few moments to draw the will to open my eyes. Then, breathing, heavy, shaky breathing.

I open my eyes and find Solas staring at me from his bedroll, trying to hide his flushed cheeks and blushing ears in the shadows. He is bewildered, his aura aflame with emotions and thoughts too quick and sporadic to comprehend; upon following his gaze, my tunic is mostly undone, exposing one bare breast, and I could still feel the heaviness of sex in the air, despite the cold night.

Shit.

My face is hot and I am embarrassed. Somehow, somewhere, he saw it.

He saw all of it.

Say something. Anything. Apologize?

“I…Solas, sorry, I didn’t mean—“ stammering, shaking, almost in tears from embarrassment.

“Go to sleep, Saeris.” He is trying to sound calm, indifferent. He turns over, his back to me, and lays still. I don’t think he’s asleep, just wants me to think he is.

Stupid. I am so stupid!

Letting my hormones get the better of me. I have better judgment than that! I should have checked; I should have made sure I was actually alone.

Why was I embarrassed? I am an adult, and so was he. It was my dream, after all. It isn’t as if sex is weird or frowned on here. How many people have I walked by in the midst of ‘relieving stress’ in another person’s company? But it bothers me.

Because it was him.

If it was any other man, I would be less embarrassed. But now I feel like a hormonal virgin teenager. Why, all of a sudden, am I having these dreams? Had I had them before…coming here? What caused the Fade to influence them in such a way?

 I flop back onto my bedroll, and try to shake the shame from my mind.

_I grab ahold of the Fade, shape it, mold it, make it into something better._

_The white stone gardens blossom from the mists. Undulating forms solidify and become whole; the stone steps, the white stone pillars appearing to hold up the heavens, and the starlight dancing over my moon-kissed flesh. Crystal grace line the walkways, a gentle stirring of water from a nearby fountain fills the air with soft music. The grass is dry and soft beneath my bare feet, and wisps dart playfully among branches and leaves of garden flora._

_In the center of the patio formed in front of me was the bubbling fountain. At first, it resembles a simple silver bowl, overflowing with clear cool water into a larger carved crystal basin. Written along the inner edge of the sparkling silver bowl, a quote, in delicate and decorative elvhen is written “Everything has changed, and yet I am far greater than I have ever been.”_

_The penmanship looks familiar; the curves, the length of the straight strokes…it looks like my hand._

_As my eyes flit over the words, the surface of the water shimmers, color and mist filling the depths, and images appear. Flashes, like memories in the deepest of dreams._

_But they are not mine._

_Like a whisper, a single voice rises from the water, filling my head with thoughts, corresponding to the pictures. I lean in further. This is new._

_The images expand, grow, filling my mind until all I can see is the faded memories._

_It is as if I am standing in the memory, watching his memory of the Winter Palace play out like a performance. Suddenly, my thoughts are not my own, but Solas’s, spoken in his voice, his words, and seen through his eyes._

She speaks with the wisdom and grace of the elvhen, but she cannot be. Her spirit is unknown to me. Her magic is unrefined. I have never seen a whisper of her in the Fade. Yet she has no vallaslin, so she could be no Dalish. She is slave to no one.

Even now, surrounded by these lifeless, careless humans, she shows the sort of dignity and pride I have not seen in these ages.  The strength of her spirit, her will, the determination and purity of her actions…Her beauty is undisputed.

Her scent carries over the heady mix of sex and perfume in the ballroom. It attracts the attention of all who would look on her. They do not notice it. They only see the moonlit flesh, the golden threads of hair that dance across the gentle curves of her bare shoulders.

They do not see the way her eyes play across the pages of dusty tomes. They do not notice the way her lips part just a little, as she focuses on the words. They do not hear the music in her voice as she discusses the ways of spirits, or the memories of long lost people she has seen in the Fade; the respect she offers all things, be them mortal, spirit, or beast.

She brings a new hope to my long forgotten dreams. Long have I doubted I could find another soul who could speak to my own. Never have I imagined in all of Thedas I would find someone who could pull my attention from the Fade; yet, in the depths of the Fade, we meet, and for those hours I am whole once more…

She is tired; her aura falters as I approach. I dare not probe her too much, she is a strong woman, and one worthy of appreciation.

What could such a woman see in an old wolf like me?

“Come, dance with me, before the music ends.” I dreaded saying it. She had asked earlier, and her disappointment at my refusal had me assured she would want no part of it later.

But then she smiled.

It was the sort of smile that makes one believe she is made of magic itself. I knew then that I wanted to be the one to make her smile. Then her hand fell into mine, there were no thoughts, and no words in the languages of Elves, Men, Dwarves or Qunari could describe how it felt. It was a sense of…familiarity, of comfort, warmth, connection...

And attraction. I wanted her.

It took all of my will to resist it. A younger me would have taken her to bed months ago. That blood stirs in me now, as I see the wind dance with the layers of her dress, exposing bits of tender skin, the curves of her waist, the roundness of her breasts…I must to resist.

But her words, her thoughts, they were like music to my ears.

Perhaps it is selfish.

I do not want to hurt her. She is too close, to special, too marvelous to damage in such a way.

But I _am_ selfish.

_The connection fails, and I am pulled back, back into my own head, my own body, and my own thoughts. The last swells of his emotions lingering in the recesses of my mind. His body ached; it ached the way mine did in the Fade. His mind, heart, and body were at odds. He wants…me? Not just the physical, but something in his thoughts wants me in entirety._

_His mind a jumble of his thoughts and questions; is it safe? She is too beautiful. Does she know? How could I express it? Will it hurt? Her eyes, the sway of her hips harnessed in leather leggings…Would she deny me? Her smile is…What could she see in me?_

_Most importantly, does she feel the same?_

_The Fade is slipping away. Bereft of coherent thought, I feel the warmth of sun lapping at the bare flesh on my arms. I am waking. I need more time, I need to sort this, unknot the tangles of thoughts, tightly winding around…around…_

_How am I to focus now?_

“Good morning, Saeris. I trust you slept well?”

My eyes flutter open against the blinding sun dancing between the windswept leaves of the canopy above. Already it is warm, and the scent of damp grass and the small cooking fire fill my nose.

What do I say?

He doesn’t know I saw it. Should I tell him? Should I apologize? I didn’t openly mean to go into his memories.

I wasn’t even sure it was truly possible. Even for Dreamers.

“Mm…morning,” I mutter, making sure my tunic is tied up before sitting. Brain is bunched, bundled, bound in too many colors, too many thoughts, like strands of yarn knotted and wound tight. I don’t know where to begin.

“It is early yet, but we have limited time before we are to meet back with the Inquisitor.” Solas stirs the broth in the small pot over the fire, and hands me some bits of bread and dried fruit. “There is quite a bit to cover. I only wish we had more time to explore the memories here.”

“The Veil is so thin here. It is almost unnerving.” I yawn, nibbling at the bread. “My dreams were…wild, to say the least.”

He tries to look indifferent, focusing on the pot of broth, pouring it into two stoneware mugs. “The Fade, when it is close, can have that effect on those sensitive to it.” His demeanor is calm, strong; he is…him. “With the trauma you have endured as of late, it may be more potent than before. I have heard of some mages who gain further connection to the Fade after such events.”

Yes, that is logical; perhaps he is right. This is sudden, especially for me. It must be the erratic nature of the Fade and my recent injuries…I sip the broth. I have never liked plain broth, but it is sustenance and I should be grateful for that much. “Does it do the same to you? You are a Dreamer.”

“It does.”

Oh, good. Maybe he didn’t see it, maybe…

Maybe he dreamed the same thing? Perhaps he merely woke up to my scent, and maybe his surprise was waking to see me as disheveled as he imagined me to be. Maybe he—

“Are you well, Saeris?”

Face hot, I feel the dampness of my smallclothes warming with the memories of that dream. He kissed me before, but now, knowing that he wants me…

But how do I do it right? He is traditional, methodical, precise…I am too young.

“Y-yes. Sorry,” I stammer, swallowing the remaining broth in one sip. “As you said, a lot to cover today. I was just lost in thought.”

He nods. I wish his aura was not so tightly wound about him, I wonder what he is thinking. “I did find the original purpose of this place,” he says as he consumes his breakfast. “It was once a retreat, magically built. From what I could gather in the Fade, there should be a library to the north, and, if you are interested, the living quarters to the east.”

“I imagine they will not be easy to get into.” I sigh. I wish it would be easy for once.

He pours water into the pot to rinse it, before standing it by the fire to dry. He follows with the mugs and utensils, before standing and picking up his robes. “Were you here alone, it would be yes. However it should not be too difficult. You have somewhat of an expert on these matters with you.”

I follow suit, quickly donning my robes, and adjusting my foot-wraps. “Do you think I will need my staff?”

“You have yet to truly need it. But no, I do not believe it will be necessary,” He answers, fastening his bag closed and stashing it, and the food supplies in a safe place.  “You have a rare gift with magic; I am surprised the staff does not limit you.”

“Thank you, Solas.”

We follow the wall for a time, stopping to map out the separate buildings in my notebook. He seems elated and oddly close to me as I sketch, asking questions and inquiring about my feeling about the ancient stones. Even over the strong scent of pollen and damp soil, I can still smell him; masculine, strong, experienced but almost forgotten in time…Strange that a scent could have no defining characteristics, but his musk is just that; thoughts and emotions, as if memory had a scent.

“This would have been a large patio,” Solas explains, coming to a clearing. There are a few standing pillars, long covered in vine and moss, interwoven with broad trees and fallen stone. “On any given night, there would be large, usually ornate couches and lounging chairs with a decorative silver fountain in the center. Lanterns of blue fire would line the outer walls. One could forget their worries here; just bask in the peace of the inner walls, away from the world…”

He sounds reminiscent. He misses it?

“It sounds lovely.” I wander to the center of the clearing. Beneath some brush, I can see the faint outline of a stone bowl structure. I pull away the ivy and leaves, brush off a patch of dirt and moss, and expose the carved stone bowl of the fountain. It looks much like the one from my dream, only weathered by time and nature. It was dull now, the quartz crystal eroded and pock marked from rain and time. The silver bowl, I assume had long since been pillaged.  “I would fear never wishing to leave. Such a place sounds…well, magical, I suppose.”

“It was.”

It is so close to the dream. I wonder if he somehow let me see his memory. As if he was trying to tell me, but couldn’t form the words.

“Perhaps we can sleep here tonight? I would like to see the memories.” I say, heading slowly away from the patio.  He nods, and offers no other insight, but follows me silently to the dilapidated stone entrance of a large building.

The magic here is familiar. Of course it would be. It is mixed with other magic, the threads coming from perhaps…two sources?  One, I knew well, and belonged once to Fen’Harel. The second was known to me, but only just; Mythal’s magic was strong at one point, but it was fading, and the whisper of it lingered in the crevices of the stone.  

The building was falling apart; stone littered the floor, trees grew up from the crumbling pavers and through the once ornately painted ceilings. Fragments of pottery and metalwork dusted the dark corners of the room, and the tingle of magic still hung heavy in the air.

Solas went to the far wall, inspecting the faded painting on the wall. I watch him run his careful hands over the fresco, as if remembering with touch, what glory it once portrayed. He knows this place.

But he hides it from me.

I want to be angry. I want to demand why he continues to lie to me.

But I cannot.

Because I hold as much back; I lie too.

My eyes break away, and I wander a crumbling hallway. It ends abruptly at a flat wall with the remnants of a statue in front of it. I feel the pull of a powerful magic, I can see the threads weaving into the Fade and back again, heavy, thick, like sailor’s rope. It is suspicious, and it is laced with the essence of Fen’Harel.

What lies beyond this wall? What sort of magic do I stand before?

“Saeris, I have found something of interest,” Solas says quietly behind me. I still jump; my heart in my throat. “Come.”

I follow him to another hall, and with the wave of his hand, a door in the stone swings silently open, revealing the library within.

Everything is perfectly preserved; books line every shelf of the windowless room, the floor and walls remain intact, only the ceiling was open, magic shimmered in a protective barrier high above my head. As I step into the room, lanterns of blue fire ignite along the shelves, and float above the center of the library.

It is beautiful.

“Perhaps your information may reside here?” Solas smiles at me, and I am aware at once that I am slack jawed and a bit silly looking.  “I had thought such a room would exist here, but I had not expected it to be in such remarkable condition.”

It does not take long, making my way around the circular room, to discover that all of the books were in Elvhen, except two, which were in ancient Dwarven. They are easy to read, but Solas does not know that. I have not yet told him.

I probably should.

“I suppose you will need me to translate the texts,” Solas states without any emotion at all. “I would start with the green one there; the leather bound one with the tree embossed on the spine.”

“Some, perhaps. I have picked up more Elvhen lately.”

It is a lie, but not a major one. I hate it nonetheless. I look for the tome he mentions. I note as well that he seemed to know exactly where it is, even though he had yet to come to this side of the room. You could not know the title of this book unless you put it there. Your disguise is slipping, my handsome wolf.

The book in question is a shelf higher than I could reach, unless I stand on the lowest shelf. And that is sacrilege to such an exquisite library. I struggle, reaching above my head, craning my torso as far as it would go. My fingertips brush the spine of the book, but I find no solid grip.

“I am sorry, I misjudged the height of the shelf,” Solas whispers, suddenly behind me. I can feel his chest against me, the ties of his trousers rubbing against the small of my back. His left hand steadies on the curve of my left hip, the fingers gripping me with gentle firmness.

Oh Creators save me.

With his right arm, he easily retrieves the book, and as he returns to his natural stance, I feel his breath dance on my neck, and into my collar, playing with the loose tendrils of hair dangling from my braid.

“Thank you,” I whisper, forcing myself not to choke on the raging storm of emotions and desires that were welling in my core.

“You are, and always will be, welcome, ma ve--.” He whispers back, ending his thought abruptly, before his hand releases its hold on the book, and my hip, and the tome falls into my clumsy hands.

He…he was going to say it.

I felt it in the way his magic warmed against me, the way his aura pooled around us, like a warm blanket. He was going to say it.

_Vhenan. My heart._

The book nearly slips from my hands as he leaves me to another corner, pulling his aura tight about him once more. My throat is dry, and I force myself to swallow against the lump of nervous knots that now take residence there.

Ignore the dampness, the closeness, the wanton urges of your neglected sex. Focus, you are here to help Maxwell…Not yourself. Focus. What is going on with me?

I skim the cover of the book, letting the intricate embossing soak into my memory. I wonder what it would take to have these all moved to Skyhold? Is it even possible? Is the magic here preserving them, and if they are removed, will time suddenly catch up? I read the title, and loosely translated, it reads “The Bonding Code: How to Find Your Mate”. It sounds much more beautiful in Elvhen, this sounds a bit…corny actually. Nor is this helpful to Maxwell. I put it aside, taking note as to not misplace it, as I do intend on reading it later.

We find ourselves deep in knowledge, discussing information that seems relevant to my search. I frantically write notes and draw loose sketches of the pages, and hope that I scribe everything accurately. I manage to stash a few books in my bags, hopefully without alerting my handsome study companion. Darkness falls sooner than I expected; Solas leaves to gather our belongings just before the last beams of light fall beneath the tree line. When he leaves, the silence is overwhelming.

I pick up that book, and quickly read through the first chapter. It talks about slow, building trust through the…aura? Opening pathways of connection that are naturally occurring in paired people. From briefly scanning the pages, I can see how courting took so long. So many stages! First, finding comfort, essentially, then gifts, and building a connection with that person. Then there is a whole series of events based on…well, physical touching without sex; for lack of a better word, it’s foreplay. This stage seems to carry on for the longest time, building the desire and connection between the two people. The book does not seem to go into great detail as to what this is. Perhaps I should ask him?

Thoughts find the knots of tangled dreams and desires, wedge their way into my focus. Could I trust his answers? He did lie. Why did he hide who he was in the Fade? What reason could he have?

I could ask myself the same question. Surely, I have a good reason. I am helping him.

But what if he is trying to do the same? Can I really be mad at him? My head begins to throb with sudden and reckless pain. The words on the page no longer formed coherent sentences, just slashes of ink on browned parchment. Maybe it was the exposure to the raw magic of the place that started it. But even upon exiting the place, the headache would not let up. I struggle to finish the tome I am reading, taking notes and trying to memorize the images delicately drawn in the ancient pages.

The scent of old paper was nauseating, and I needed fresh air.

Carefully I make my way out toward the main chamber. I emerge from the hall in time to see Solas returning, his arms full of gear and a staff in both hands. He is overburdened with my gear and the supplies, but he does not ask for help. I almost feel guilty for halting our studies so soon.

“I think I need a break,” I say, squinting into the dim light of the Veilfire he wields. “I do not feel well. Perhaps I was focusing too hard.”

He carefully puts our bags down in a sheltered corner of the ruined main hall. “It is quite a lot to take in, all at one time,” he takes my hands into his left hand, and with the right, he brushes his palm over my forehead, magic filtering into me as soft as rose petals, and  resting his hand at the back of my skull, cupping my head in a gentle hold. The pain eases, and there is a distinct change in the air—his aura reaches for me, it calls to me. “Perhaps a change of scenery is in order?”

I nod, and he slowly releases me, almost reluctantly dropping my hands to pick up our packs. He hands me my staff and conjures another Veilfire at its top like a torch.  He leads me away from the library, and in the dark it is difficult to tell the direction, but soon I feel the familiar change of soft soil to stone pavers, and I am aware we have passed into another part of the ruins.

“I found this last night, I had hoped to enjoy it earlier in the day, but our studies seem to have used our daylight hours.” Solas explains, pulling aside a curtain of ivy to expose a truly glorious sight.

At one point, this place would have been a bath house; many of the walls were torn down over time, and grown over by trees and brush. At one end, the stone building still stands; columns stand erect and covered in moss, fragments of carefully sculpted arbors line the hall around a massive pool of steaming water. I could faintly make out the ancient glyphs at the bottom of the pool, still strong, holding onto the glittering pavement lining the floor. Small stones, aglow with soft blue light, not unlike the color of Veilfire dot the pool floor, illuminating the water from beneath. The hillside had fallen partially into the building, and the other end of the warm pool was hidden beneath something of a cave formed from the falling stone.  Beside this wall of stone is where we enter, and above, the only roof is the stars that glitter like diamonds on the dark blue satin sky.

Inviting does not do this place justice. He takes my hand, leading me to the still standing portion of the ruins. He puts the gear down in a clear corner and sets some ward. “I believe this will ease the rest of your pain, Saeris.”

Alone. Bathing. With Solas.

I blush, and the rush of blood to my head does me no benefit against the headache that still pressures my brain to explode in my skull. Are we bathing together? I feel the warmth of my core rising, and I can hardly ignore the sense of excitement—sexual excitement—from Solas as he removes his armor and tunic. I follow the defined lines of the muscles in his back as he searches for clothes on which to dry ourselves later. I never noticed the same freckles that dot his cheeks and hose also sprinkle across his shoulders and biceps. I watch each muscle, committing their movements to memory, as if I would never see this again. As invasive as it seems, a part of me will watch him this entire night.

I wonder what his legs look like under those pants. I wonder what his—

Stop. Don’t go there. You need to remain calm. Collected.

“Yes, perhaps it will,” I whisper before removing my battle robe and tossing it onto the bags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always believed Solas would be more inclined for frequent, more intimate moments, creating an equal understanding between the partners, and an exploration of their needs and desires, rather than rampaging sex all of the time (as many fan fictions portray). Don't fret, it will happen, but that's why I note that it is a slow build.  
> Thank you so much for continuing to read my work, and I hope to impress you just as much in the chapters to come.  
> <3  
> I was also curious if anyone thought this would count as a somewhat Levellan/Solas tag as well? My sister brought that to my attention, and I thought I would ask all of you your thoughts. Thanks!


	15. Chapter 15

Mind blurry, hot, muddled. The headache from earlier almost forgotten.

I have to focus.

Slowly, facing away from Solas, I strip down to just my tunic, reserving my last article of clothing to cover my dignity until I am covered by the water. I swear I hear him chuckle, seeing me shimmy out of my leather leggings, as well as struggling with the breast band beneath my tunic. 

This is happening too fast. From nothing to…this.

I dare not look at him.

The moisture in the air clings to the shirt, and the wisps of hair that had long since fallen from its braid, mingling in a sticky paste with the sweat and grime of the day’s adventures. Solas is still rummaging through bags, by the time I circle back to the pools.

I need to hurry into the water, before he sees me. My face is burning with the knowledge that he is going to be seeing me naked.

Although he already has. He’s been the one to tend to my wounds these past months; surely he’s seen it all already.  I should be more confident; I am not bad looking.

If he saw my dream, he knows that I am physically attracted to him. And I saw his memory, he feels the same. All of a sudden I am shy? Would I be less so if I had not seen his memory?

The water is inches from my feet, just a few steps up and I’ll be under the cover of water. I pull the tunic open, reaching up through the large neck opening, letting it slide down my body, pooling at my feet. Carefully I step up and out of the shirt, and delicately dip my toe into the water.

It is hot, but not unbearably so. Slowly, I let the soothing water wrap about me, inching up my dusty and tired legs as I make my way farther into the water. It feels like heaven, and as I pass over a glyph, the scent of roses fills the hazy air.

“Did you read anything interesting while I was gathering our things?” I hear him ask from the water’s edge.

It takes considerable effort to resist covering my exposed lady bits when he speaks. Confident, calm. do not be afraid. Honesty, no lies. “I did, that was a particularly…unique tome,” I say calmly. I hear the water part behind me as he lowers himself into the water behind me. I pull a handful of water in one hand, pouring it over my left arm, idly attempting to make myself comfortable.

“What about it did you find interesting, Saeris?” he asks, his voice deep, melodic, enticing, like he spoke to me in the Fade before I realized who he was.

He dunks beneath the water, and splashes when he comes up again, and I clamp my eyes shut to avoid looking at him. If I look, I will stare.

“Well, the first parts seem rather…well ordinary.” I begin, attempting to rub away the grime from my left hand. Creators help me, what am I doing? “The part on…well, I forget what ‘stage’ it was called, but the one following ‘giving gifts’.”

He hums, acknowledging my notation. “And your thoughts?”

Why does he torture me so? I hear the water splash as he draws closer, close enough to my back that I feel his aura lick at mine, dancing in the water. I open my eyes and realize that the water will hide nothing, as it is glowing the magnificent blue from beneath our feet.

I feel my braid lift from the water, and the prickling, relaxing crawling in my scalp as my hair is skillfully unbraided. Solas is…grooming me.

“I wonder why it seems to take so long? I mean, it isn’t as if they were incapable of sex without such ceremony.” I resist the urge to groan in pleasure as his fingers work carefully through the wet locks of hair, separating out the tangles, and running his fingers through the length of it. My arms are alive with goose bumps as he works, and as he gets ever closer to my scalp, he too inches closer.

“Of course they can find simple pleasure and release when it is necessary,” his fingers brush down my spine, following the hair as it trails down to the water, pooling at the surface just above my nude butt. “But that particular book was considered a manual for courting a partner for life. Such a bond takes more time, more energy,” I can feel him brush against my backside, I try to ignore what it was that strokes against my left butt cheek. “I remember a discussion we had, not long ago. I thought you may be interested.” Calm down, calm down!

“Oh, I s-see.” I say. It sounds more like a shaky exhale in the shape of words. His fingers lace down my scalp, releasing the final twist of braid. The tip of one finger brushes the sensitive length of my neck. I shiver, and this time I cannot help the moan that barely escapes my lips. What I would do for release right now?

“I am informed, by a reliable source, it is much more enjoyable that way,” he whispers. His lips brush the lobe of my ear, and I nearly melt there, but no, he is not yet done. He wades around, and now stands before me, the water barely cresting the top of his hips, the blue light illuminating everything from underneath.

Don’t look at it.

He lifts my chin with one steady hand, a smirk on his lips. “Never look down, I wish to see your eyes.” His lips gently brush a feather light kiss on mine, energizing my soul with new fervor. He slowly makes his way to the water’s edge, and I no longer stop myself from watching him. He grabs a cloth and a chunk of soap and walks back, lathering up the cloth on his return. He takes up my left arm, and begins to wash it; he works in small soft circles, messaging each inch of my hand, wrist, arm, up to my shoulder, before cupping water over me to rinse it away. When the bubbles were gone, he kissed the top of my shoulder, and I shiver once more beneath him.

I am quaking. I should be stronger. But by the Fade this feels so good.

He begins anew on the right hand, his eyes never straying or pausing too long on anything but what he cleans. So careful, gentle; my soreness, my pain simply melts away beneath his fingertips. Like the left, he rises away the soap, and nuzzles into the shoulder. His hand follows the curve of my neck, and he circles back behind me, bringing the soapy rag over my collar bone, to my spine, shifting my hair away over my shoulder. His hands work in steady pressure, rounding out the knots and sore spots in my shoulders, beneath the blades, inching down, down…

His fingertips brush beneath my arms, just barely grazing the outermost edges of my breasts, as his thumbs kneed away. Instantly my nipples grow hard, and the air above the water seems much colder. I feel him shift as he feels this in me; he feels the growing heat, the swelling warmth of wanton desire that struggles to break free. His hands do not sway from their course. Down my back, circling, grinding out the uneasiness and the strain, finally ending at the tip of my tailbone.

Yet he continues. I am speechless. Words have no meaning now. I am lost in bliss. Solas’s arms wrap around my shoulders, the wash cloth in his right hand, he begins down my torso, starting with the left shoulder. His breath is steady by my ear, and my head involuntarily rolls back against his shoulder. Firm, passionate kisses along my neck send exhilarating energy through my wet and willing body. The trickling water down my chest tickles my already sensitive skin, perking up my hardened nipples in time for his deliberate touch to covet them. His breath suddenly catches, and he releases a shaky exhale. He is trying to contain himself. His aura is burning with the same electric fire that swarms within me.

It must have been even longer for him, since he has held a woman.

His calloused but soft hands run warm water over the soapy mounds of my breasts, and I feel him watch hungrily as the water flows down to surface of the pool, gathering bubbles around my bellybutton. I feel him flex behind me, and he attempts to pull his midsection away from my backside.

Sudden boldness in me. My arm reaches behind me, snaking around his lower back, pulling him against me. I feel the pulse of heat in his arousal as it grinds up against my flesh. I swear I hear him moan…

His careful touch continues, cleansing my other breast, inching down my stomach. His spare hand comes up to hold me. My body no longer wants to stand on its own. Once the cloth is no longer needed, he releases it into the currents of the pool, but his hands continue their wondrous torture.

His lips mouth words in Elvhen, and I am too distracted to catch them. His strong arms pull me to a bench that runs along the center, just low enough that I may sit, but my upper torso remains above the water.  His lips dance down my neck and shoulder, nipping, then caressing away the bite; it felt as if the part of him wanting the immediate release was being fought back by the one who wishes to make this…

Make it what?

He straddles the bench behind me, one hand still trailing down my stomach, inching ever closer to my fantastically aroused pussy. The other hand found a new path upward, exploring again the soft skin of my chest. I feel him press, resisting the urge to grind up against me, as his engorged arousal throbs against the small of my back. He continues to explore me. He is so close.

No, do it right. Make him do it right.

I reach down, lacing my fingers in his before they reach my mound. A noise not unlike a growl of frustration escapes him, but he does not resist. “Anyone can get release, Solas.” I whisper, forcing myself to sit upright, pulling his grip apart.

The soap floats near, and I take it up. I stand, feeling his hands trail down the curve of my chest, down my waist, finally splashing into the water at my hips. His gaze is wild, begging, but his aura… _Are you sure?_ It questions my motivation, it questions the reality of…this.

I lean in, and kiss him. Never has the nerves in my body been more alive than with this kiss. The contact causes a chain reaction, sending shivers and heat flashes through my body, and nearly letting loose the wild sexual animal that threatens to ruin this moment. “Ma serennas. I let myself be carried away.” He whispers as our lips part.

Pulling away, I lather up my hands. He watches with contentment, admiration, and a little bit of fear. He lets me take up his hand, and with similar massaging motions, rub the soap deep into the over-worked joints of his hands. I try to ease the tension in his arms and simultaneously ignore the fiery, wildly aroused look in his eyes as I kneel on the bench in front of him to wash his chest.

I feel the familiar goose bumps form on his arms as he braces himself against me, while my fingers lace around the back of his neck, massaging the soap into the rock hard muscles of his neck and shoulders. His eyes close, and he breathlessly mutters incoherently in Elvhen. I have lost him to sensation, to bliss.

I wonder if this is what his followers would have done once?

But I do not worship him. Not like that.

What do I feel for him?

My hands do not leave the silken skin of his chest; even long after I have finished cleaning and the soap rinsed clear, I trace the lines of his muscles and scars, memorizing how each flexes and shudders beneath my fingertips. I study the way his breath hitches as I inch closer, sitting astride the bench facing him, open to him. Each blink, every shift of muscle in his face I watch and memorize. The glitter in his eye, relief from so many years locked away behind that mask of pride and indifference.

This is Solas.

This is the man.

His hand guides my face to his, and I do not fight it. His lips are gentle. Solas doesn’t move to deepen the kiss, but was instead soft, reserved, careful. He radiates a strange kind of thankfulness, and I cannot resist the sensation. There is a silent plea to accept him, whole, as he is, broken and alone. I think of nothing else but the man as he is, the water lapping at his time-hardened shell, the warmth of his touch, the sound of his voice. Strangely this kiss feels more intimate than any I had experienced before, and somewhere in my soul I knew that has nothing to do with our nudity.

_“Ar lath ma, Solas,”_

The words leave my lips before my thoughts have a chance to catch up to them. I feel him shudder, my near perfect Elvhen rolling like honey from my tongue. Hungrily, he draws me in again, his mouth eager and impatient, biting the swell of my lower lip.

His strong arms wrap around the small of my waist, bringing me flush against him. My legs straddle him, and I feel his erection poised, bumping against my thighs as it is pushed by the currents in the water. He is so close. So CLOSE!

Abruptly he pulls back, shaking his head and loosening his grip about my waist. “I am sorry. Perhaps we should…” he turns from me, looking disgusted with himself.

He is worse than I am. I cannot help the chuckle that escapes me as I dismount. The desire in my core screams in protest, but for once, for once I will be in command of it. “You do not need to apologize.” I say, turning his face back to mine. I kiss his brow, and back away. “It has been a long time.” I whisper, and I dunk my head beneath the water before heading toward the steps.

I feel his eyes on me, and I do not hold back showing off the sway of my hips as I ascend the stairs up and out of the water. I do not need to look back, I can feel his frustration building long after I have rounded the wall, beyond his sight.

Calm. Cool down. No need to be hasty.

But there is so little time. We leave for Skyhold tomorrow.

I pull on a clean tunic. It is too big.

I said it.

_Ar lath ma._ I love you.

My back finds comfort against the cold stone wall, and I lean back, looking up into the night sky with a sigh. Slowly, the rush of hormones subsides, and my head clears.  What have I done?

I don’t feel like eating before I sleep. My headache returns as an echo of its former self, and I opt to find a dry space in the clearing away from the water to lay my bedroll out. As I lay down, I hear Solas in the darkness, unrolling his bedroll and shifting uncomfortably within his covers. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even suggest lighting a small fire, he just lays down, far enough away from me that I cannot easily feel his aura.

What do I say?

Is there anything I can say?

My eyes shut, I force myself to relax. What’s done is done. A part of me has already come to terms with the idea that perhaps he was not ready. This mess has been…fast. Perhaps he just was not prepared.

As I edge toward the Fade, I feel one last tender moment, and a soft voice echo in my ear, “ar lath ma, vehnan.”

~*~

_Forest, dusky, black, white, gray, misty, glowing with the hum of the full moon._

_My feet land soft on the damp soil. The garden lights with dazzling starlight; white stone illuminating the sleeping bushes and flowers in path-side planters. Somewhere, the whisper of servants and the hustle of soft padded shoes on polished hallway floors, catches my attention._

_I pass by the door to the main house, watching the glitter of soft firelight pierce the darkness. Two serving girls, busying themselves with empty wine glasses and re-corking a bottle. I continue._

_The glass pane of a decorative mirror catches my eye. Shimmering in the barely visible reflection is my own form. In the glass I see a wolf; white, wispy like the morning mist that lingers over a lake, bright blue eyes that shine like Veilfire. It looks like the wolf I created with my own magic back in Crestwood._

_I look down, and my reflection does the same. My hands are my own flesh and blood. My arms are bare, my body clad in a dress not entirely unlike the one I wore to the Winter Palace. No wolf am I, until I look into the glass._

_I hear his voice, a quiet and collected tone carrying over the gentle ambient breeze and rustle of leaves in the canopy above._

_“I will dismiss the staff tomorrow.”_

_My interest in the mirror fades and I continue down the walkway. I round the building and the baths open before me. Large pointed archways lined in crawling flowers and ivy, curtaining the solid glass windows from prying eyes. Three sets of large double doors are open, the wind gently shifting the curtains inside, magic glistening on top of the water that dots the stone floors around the massive pool._

_“Have you thought this through? Please, my old friend, wait, just a little longer. My children’s greed may yet be sated…”_

_Mythal._

_The woman I see is not the Mythal I know. It must be how she looked before. It is not entirely different; her clothing is the same style, her hair the same as well, but this woman is decidedly Elvhen, slender, tall, the threads of magic mixing, sprawling, entwining with her and the surroundings. Her face is younger, less weathered._

_He snorts, coming around the wall in little more than a silken robe. Solas, young, wild, reckless; he looks like the man I had known in the Fade. He tosses the robe aside and steps into the water. Mythal does nothing._

_“They hunger yet for your power, and they will stop at nothing now.” His back is to the goddess, he goes about cleaning himself; quick, rough, dunking his head underwater, letting it saturate his hair._

_The goddess sighs, turning toward the doorway I stand in. “I am sorry, my friend. Just wait a little longer.”_

_Then something happens that I feel in my very soul; she looks at me. She stops, and when her eyes focus on mine, she smiles, knowingly. Her magic reaches for me, attempting to latch onto my…spirit? A glint of something flashes in her eyes, before she walks through me, disappearing into the mists of the fade._

_It is as if she, back then, actually saw me now._

_How could that be? This is a long, long forgotten memory, brought to life by the spirits of the Fade; how could she see into the future? Or could I somehow have…reached into the past?_

_Solas, his hair wet and slicked down climbs from the water. He is tired, his shoulders suddenly slumped and sagging beneath the weight of the worry he wears plainly on his face. He doubts; his trust in the Evanuris fades still. His young heart is wild with ideas, ways to stop them._

_But he doesn’t know what is coming. Mythal yet lives; his pain is yet to reach its height._

_I watch him, as the scene changes. Now I stand in the doorway to the library, he focuses, practicing some spell, the mass of bright energy swelling and growing dense in his grasp. As the light fades, the familiar orb comes into view in young Solas’s hands. He is frustrated, and slams it down on the desk, taking notes in a book, cursing angrily at himself._

_He pauses, looks up to the doorway where I stand. A similar feeling grows in me; does he…sense me? With swift measured movements he comes to the door, standing inches from me, squinting into the dark hallway, as if he is trying to discern if a spirit does stand before him. “Just the light,” I hear him whisper as he returns to his desk for the orb. With the wave of a hand, the lights go out, and we stand in the hallway with the dead end, where the statue guards the wall. The statue, now whole glows with his approach, and something shifts. I hear the soft grinding of stone on stone as the wall slides open, the statue moving to the side as a sentinel. Beyond is a dimly lit staircase downward, into the depths of the earth._

_Once more, he turns around, looking right into my eyes. Oh those sad, sorrow filled eyes; dark and pained by the stress of thousands of lives he would have already saved. He shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose, before heading down the stairs._

_I follow, silent, careful of my steps. The stairs spiral down, before opening into a large room. The walls are lined with books, shielded with magic and decorative metal grates. Several tables stood at one end, filled with various ancient and forgotten tools for crafting spells and potions. At the other end, the room was open, flat floored, and even in my lack of color sense, I could see the dark scorch marks of spells still staining the celling and floor._

_He places the orb on a stand on one of the tables, and fades into mist._

_But the memory isn’t over._

_The door swings open with a slam. Solas bursts in, angry, clad in his brilliant armor and fur cloak, followed by two…generals?_

_“This will not continue,” He growls, picking up the orb. His eyes light up, and the orb responds in kind; the sphere comes alive with magic, and he tosses it to one of the men. “Make sure it is delivered as we discussed.”_

_“Yes, Fen’Harel.” The men say in sync. They turn and run from the room. Solas, turns to his tables._

_One book lay open now. Most of the devices that had been resting there were long gone, replaced by potions, herbs, books and notes. The labors of a scholar developing the ultimate prison._

_“Too many lives, and now this?” He cries, punching a bookcase, denting the metal. “No more. No more lives will be spent on your petty war.”_

_Flashes of memory; glimpses of his studies, countless days, hours, time spent in this room. He finally stops, Tired, emotionally drained, and burdened. I see the notes, the letters describing the lives lost; the horrors of the other Evanuris as they spend blood like gold, and the death of Mythal._

_He writes the last notes in his journal, and with a satisfied grin closes it. “No more, tomorrow, you face your punishment.”_

_I see the journal, as the dream changes again, warping, showing passage of time. It lays on the table, covered in dust, untouched by any hand._

_Even now._

_I am so close, that book holds the secret of the Veil; I need to get it!_

_But the dream fades, and I slowly begin to realize I am waking up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! A lot happening this chapter, but it is done. I am really happy with it! Probably one of my favorite chapters to write. This particular scene has been bouncing around in my head since day one, and it is so nice to have it in words finally!   
> I am not real versed in Elvhen, so if anyone notices a mistake when I use it, please let me know; I won't be mad, promise!  
> As always, thank you for continuing to read my brain-child; I spend a lot of time on this, and I appreciate the dedication and comments.  
> Also, a special thank you to my boyfriend (my first fan and honorary 'editor') for following me through the chapters, and giving me great advice and support.   
> Love you all!! <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 200 Kudos!  
> Thank you all so much! I am so proud to have earned even that many, when not that long ago I thought I'd be content with 10. Thank you for continuing to read my story!

There is too much to comprehend as my mind returns to the physical world. Shifting memories still catching on the cracks of my consciousness, the journal, death of Mythal, Solas’s eyes, burning hot and angry. The Fade is affecting me so strongly… too strong, my mind throbs with the abundance of knowledge. I feel my mind unlock, stretching, somehow, if that is possible. So much more fitting into my memory than I had believed. What is happening to me?

“Saeris, wake up.”

The sun isn’t up yet. The Veil crackles and pricks at my skin, and I can sense something coming.

Solas’s stern, stone cold eyes searching, piercing the forest.

He is already wearing his robes, his staff in hand.

Then the ward breaks.

I am armored in moments, and lucky that too, as I see a small army of Red Templars stomp through the ruin. Solas and I are pressed into the shadows, hard against the stone, breathing as quietly as possible.

I could see, albeit poorly, they head toward the ruin.

Where the journal is.

This never happened in the game. I have no memory of this! This was never supposed to happen.

I watch them blast through a stone wall into the library; I watch the building go up in flames as they rampage through the ancient halls.

How can they destroy it…it was meaningless to them, why waste the energy? How could they take the few ancient records Thedas has away from us? From me?

Solas’s thumb brushes a tear that had fallen down my cheek. With the gentle squeeze of my hand, he leads me from the ruin, abandoning my only hope of combating the Veil to the hands of those barbarians.

We are not far from the camp when we run into the Inquisitor and party. They are breathless, and worn out. It doesn’t take much to figure out they were trailing the Templars.

“They have the last shipment manifest Cullen wants.” Dorian sighs quietly, rubbing his neck to relieve pressure. “And…well…”

“We believe the leader may have information about you,” Cassandra finishes. “They ambushed us once already, looking for you.”

Varric comes up from the back, “They are one group, no stragglers,” he informs Maxwell.

“They just overran the ruins,” I resist the urge to cry, mourning the loss of history under their barbarism. “We got out unseen, but it worries me that they were there to begin with. It is not a common known place, and far off the beaten path.”

“How could they have known about it then?” Maxwell asks. “It doesn’t matter now, we need to clear them out, and perhaps see what they were looking for.”

I just hope the workshop is untouched. I just hope the Templars do not have the power to open the stairwell…

Even if it is destroyed forever, I would rather that than if they took that journal to Corypheus.

Solas does not stray far from me as we creep as quietly as possible back to the ruin. I see the glow from the fires long before we come up against the first foe; a handful of archers fall swift and silently.

Deep in my soul, an anger rises anew; the fires of my hatred burning hotter than the flames of those ancient tomes. My spells are deadlier, shaped to a keen edge, sharper than Cole’s blade, and faster than Varric’s arrows.

The fight itself is a blur; as the morning light illuminates the forest floor, I find myself before the remnants of the beautiful library. Maxwell and Cassandra busy themselves searching the corpses alongside Solas, who was looking for any indication of their knowledge of me. I step over a body, still smoldering with the remnants of my hatred, and enter the dark, smoke filled room.

The magic that had encased the roof was broken, and the smoke was beginning to dissipate through the opening. The floors were charred and black, the shelves—what remained of them—were broken and blackened. Every inch of the room was permanently damaged.

“I’m sorry kid,” Varric sighed, kicking what was a table leg out of the way. “What a shame…”

“All of this knowledge, all of the history. Gone.” I look around, and with Varric’s help, we find a few books that were minimally damaged, and some that were salvageable. “I was so close to finding it, Varric,” I whisper, picking up a book on herbs that seemed to be little more than a hardened cover now. “I found it, but, now I don’t know if I can get to it.”

Varric patted my arm, and continued searching for any books or pages that survived the fire. I wandered around until I found the remains of the hallway. It was collapsed in, completely blocking the doorway to the workshop beneath the earth.

It’s better this way.

I just need to keep telling myself that.

Next I find myself at the pools. Here too, the magic is broken. The remnants of the stone pillars and decorative arbors are lying in the water, which is slowly seeping back into the earth through the large cracks now littering the bottom of the pool. Even the water is cool now.

“It was quite a night, wasn’t it?” Maxwell asks, coming up behind me, still somewhat covered in gore from the battle. “I am glad you are safe.”

“But we have lost so much.”

He dips his hands into the water, rinsing away the grime from battle. “But you are safe, Solas is safe, and we have information now.”

“You found the spy?” My interest piqued a little, breaking away from the steamy memories from the night before, that had somehow managed to worm themselves into my thoughts.

“We have some names. It is unknown if the spy is aware that they are…well spying,” Maxwell stands, his face tired, strained, but kind. “Did you find anything?”

I nod, “But now, it resides behind a mass of stone, where no one can get to it. Even Corypheus’ men.”

He sighs. The anchor flares, and I see him wince. “Perhaps we can figure out a way to get to it.”

“Perhaps.”

“Inquisitor,” Dorian approaches, dusting his shoulder with his hand, “Cassandra says we have what we came for, she is eager to leave. To be honest, I would just about kill for a bath.”

“This was one, last night.” I note, “It’s a shame really, it was quite nice.”

Dorian’s shock is only replaced by a devious smile. “In any case, we need to get back to Cullen,” he winks at me and struts off. Beyond the wall I see him pat Solas on the shoulder, congratulating him with a big, toothy grin.

“I don’t want to know.” Maxwell sighs. “Come on then, Saeris, let’s get back home.”

~*~

We later made camp at an Inquisition outpost. After everyone had eaten, cleaned their armor and weapons as best they could, they either went to sleep early (as Maxwell and Dorian had), sharpening weapons (Cassandra) or sit staring into the fire.

I sit in in silence, one of the recued books lying closed in my lap. My fingers trace the intricate embossing on the cover. How many of these small, wondrous things were treasures to him? How many of these dusty pages were prized by Solas.

How it must have hurt to watch them burn…

“Saeris, are you well?” Solas asks, sitting beside me, close enough that our hips touch.

I nod, still inspecting the ancient book. “They were works of art. Small fragments of a long forgotten history…gone…”

He nods, and drinks from his mug of water. I wonder when he got this particular book? Yes, it seems particularly uninteresting, as a study of gemstones as a means of storing magical energy (a precursor to runes, I suppose) would be. But this small thing, it is someone’s time and energy bound in a beautiful cover. The author likely no longer lives; they were likely insignificant in the eyes of the warring Evanuris. “You chose an interesting selection to rescue, Saeris.” He notes.

“A broad spectrum of knowledge assures that I will have a solid base to ground all choices.” I wipe away tears that had managed to collect. “And, if you read closely, the author’s tale is portrayed among the studies of magical containment.”

His eyebrow perks. “This makes you cry?”

“Each book is all that likely remains of an author’s life,” I put the book into my pack, between two bigger tomes and close the flap. “Each page is a culmination of time, sweat, tears, unknown ages of learning and study. Remnants of their last breath linger in these old books. And they are gone. I just witnessed a slaughter of the remnants of ancient kin. How can I not lament that?”

“I had not considered it in such a way. I am sorry.” He says genuinely. He sighs. My words struck home. Maybe he had not considered it. He may even have just thought that those little books were gone. Or maybe he already memorized every one of those books and they were simply artifacts of a bygone era.

“There is so much I could have learned. I wanted to bring them all to Skyhold, you know. Even if it meant driving the wagon myself.” I smile, sniffing back the tears that are still flowing quietly. “I wanted to preserve it, study it, I wanted…”

“Your dedication is surprising. I was unaware it was of such importance to you.”

The fire spats an ember on my leg, and I swat it away. People circle the fire, switching guard rotation and heading to their tents. Cassandra finishes her work, inspecting her sword in the firelight before sheathing it. “If there was a single person in the Inquisition that cared for history, it is Saeris.” She adds and ducks into a nearby tent.

“Quite, I apologize. I am not as observant as I once was.” Solas adjusts his position, leaning against the log I am sitting on.

“History is important, Solas. It is meaningful, and so few care for it.”

He nods. “You are a remarkable woman, Saeris.”

“Thank you. But it is as much out of selfishness and duty as it is respect for the long dead.” I stand, opening one of the packs of food, and after finding nothing of interest, I sit defeated beside Solas.

“I can understand how your desire to save such things could be considered selfish.” He says as I get comfortable again. He offers me his water, and I decline.

You have no idea the extent that this hurts, my heart.

“There was a saying, I remember from long ago, ‘those who do not study the past are doomed to repeat it’…something along those lines,” I sigh, folding my hands behind my head and looking up at the partially cloudy star-speckled sky. “So few really care to think so far into their futures, and some do not have the luxury. I suppose that, in my way, it is just another part of my mission.”

He is silent beside me. My mind is whirling with thoughts and I cannot help but vocalize them. “The future is unknown. But at least I can give people hope.”

“Hope is a powerful thing,” he says quietly.

It is. “It is hard to keep hope alive, when so many stand in your way. Often those you are trying to help are the most hindrance.”

I turn to him; he is looking up at the stars too, deep in thought. “What do you hope for your future, Saeris?” he asks finally.

What a profound thought. Had I actually considered what would happen after this? Provided I made it to ‘after’. “I do not know.” I say. “Before now, I had not thought about my own future. It is a sad thought.”

“Surely, you have some idea of what you want in your future. You have many plans for everyone else.” He smiles sideways at me.

My future. How long will that be? Am I as eternal as he is? Will I survive beyond the lifting of the Veil? Will I thrive on the other side? Will I be accepted?

“No. Any dreams I once had disappeared with my amnesia.” I say. “I haven’t had time to consider what comes after this.” I leave the statement open intentionally. I am not lying, or even bending the truth. My end for ‘this’ is just beyond his.

“You have no aspirations? Most women your age would have considered marriage and having a family.” He says this rather monotone, matter-of-fact like. I choke on my own breath.

I laugh, nervously. “Most women my age would already be, Solas.” How old was I before? “But now that you mention it, perhaps someday.”

He smiles a little. “Once, I had dreams of such things.”

He wanted a family? I thought he was too young, too ambitious, cocky, proud, and self-centered to be tied down like that. “What happened?” I should not ask, but it is too late.

“It is a long story. Ultimately I was too young, then…” he inhales, as if he might tell me… “And now this.”

“I see…”

“But I am not yet so old not to hope. Hope is powerful, yes?” He smiles back at me. “You should keep your hope and dreams alive, Saeris.”

I nod, and a yawn escapes me. “And I shall start in the Fade.” I jest, stretching. “Good night, Solas.”

“Sleep well, vhenan.” I hear him say as I climb into my bedroll and quickly fall asleep.

~*~

“Here is the current report from my man in the field,” Leliana hands me a slip of paper. It is from Harding, and she says the ruin is empty, and no one has been within two miles of it since our departure.

“Excellent. Is there manpower you can trust to help clear the rubble?” I ask, incinerating the note in my palm. The spymistress nods, gathering a few slips of paper for me to review.

“These have been loyal to us since the start,” she hands me three more. “And these three have never heard of you, and are mage recruits from Redcliff. I know many of their families, they are clean.”

“Then give the order. The sooner I can get into that room, the sooner we may have answers.” I sound suddenly authoritarian; I am not sure if it suits me or not. Leliana nods, and another scout sets about to send birds to the person’s in question. “And again, thank you, Leliana.”

“My men should be in place in three days, if you are interested, you could meet them there with little problem. I have already discussed it with the Inquisitor and Cullen, and they agree that you should be there as soon as it is opened, and that its contents kept entirely secret.”

“There is no way that I could travel with the Inquisitor and be ‘secret’ at the same time.” I chuckle.

“He intends on taking a party to the Hissing Wastes in a fortnight, I suggest you leave at the same time.” Leliana signs off on something a scout brings to her. “And bring a bodyguard as well. We don’t need you getting captured again.”

“Agreed. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Good luck, Saeris.”

It has been an exhausting week since we returned to Skyhold; what books I had salvaged were being copied. Josephine is thrilled with this, and I have brought in several decent sums of money from collectors and colleges in Orlais and the Free Marches for copies.

I circle down the staircase in time to have Dorian yank me from my thoughts, into his little sitting corner. “Drink.” He demands, handing me a small glass of strong smelling alcohol.

“Dorian, it’s only just past midday,” I start, as he cozies up in his chair, an expectant look on his devilishly handsome face. I sigh, swallow the honey-sweet liquor, and hand him the glass.

“It’s been a week, and you haven’t told me what happened,” he pours a glass for himself, sipping at it. “I need details, lovely.”

I laugh, his genuine interest is adorable. “No, no you don’t Dorian.”

“Don’t think I won’t get it out of you,” his finger wagging at me. “Besides, I have a good idea already; your body language is entirely different.”

“I have no idea what you refer to.”

I try to stand and I spot Solas talking in hushed words with someone. He looks calm, but I can tell he is dealing with someone troublesome. Or perhaps, it is the topic?

_Hot water, warmer touches, the soap gliding in comforting circles beneath his thumbs, easing the muscles from my shoulders. His fingers brush my breast, and I shiver…_

“Like that face, right there.”

My attention suddenly rounds back to Dorian, who has the most irritatingly smug smirk on his face. “Look, we didn’t sleep together. Even if I did I wouldn’t tell you details!”

“You didn’t? Pity.” Dorian pushes. Creators if he wasn’t my friend I would punch him.

“Close, yes. And that is all that I will say on the matter.”

He is clearly unsatisfied with this answer, but I wave him off with a sigh, and head down the stairs.

“...clearly something is going on. I swear that the Maker Himself won’t stop me if you hurt her!”

I clear the last step to see Maxwell leaving through the corridor that leads to Cullen’s office. He is stiff, bordering angry, and doesn’t seem to notice me in the staircase. What could possibly get him that worked up? Did he suspect something happened?

Maybe Solas told him.

Solas rubs his neck in obvious relief as the door closes, before falling gracefully into his chair and closing his eyes.

“Are you going to stand there all afternoon?” He calls from his desk. I carefully cross the rotunda, stopping at the side of his chair, where I kneel down and look up at his face.

“Dare I ask what that was about?” I try to tone it as mirthful as possible. From my squatted position, I can see Dorian peeking over the railing of the library level, sipping wine and snacking on dried fruit as if this was some sort of theatrical performance.

Solas, clearly unaware of the audience, simply brushes my cheek with the back of his fingers, pushing back the loose hair behind my ear. A soft, warm smile crosses his lips, as this tender moment comes and goes, and is swiftly evaporated when Dorian’s glass crashes to the ground.

“Sorry, I didn’t see anything.” He calls from the rear of his reading nook. I shake my head.

He means well.

“Walk with me,” He says quietly, taking my hand and leading me from the rotunda out the main hall.

There is a little known path that circles the main compound beyond the outer walls, if one knows where to look. It is accessed via a small, precarious stairway beside the main gate, and follows the wall. Here, one could be quite happily left in their own solitude, with only the biting winter chill as companion.

However, in the midday sun, it can be cold, but pleasant, and I cannot deny the company I keep makes it downright enjoyable.

The snow crunches beneath our shoeless feet, but I no longer feel the cold sting on my toes. Somehow, I have grown accustomed to walking in just traditional wraps, and temperature and terrain rarely phase me. He is still holding onto my hand when we round the first wall, and he slows down his pace some.

“I am sorry, but I prefer our private affairs be left that way,” He explains, then gently kissing my fingers with a lighthearted grin.

“Privacy is limited here, I will admit,” I answer, watching him intently. “But you have yet to answer my question.”

We continue our walk, I am a foot away from the outer walls, and he walks to my right, putting himself between me and the dizzying heights of the sheer cliffs that surround Skyhold. I huddle up next to him, having not worn much in the way of warm clothes, and his body heat is more than sufficient to sustain me. His scent is stronger than usual, perhaps it is the cold air, or my proximity, but it consumes me as we walk. I can’t help but let the memories from the bath house seep into my mind.

“May I ask what thoughts make you flush so?” he smiles down at me, and I shake myself back to reality.

My cheeks grow even warmer and I look down at our clasped hands. “Just remembering the bath house.”

He nods, “I see. I am glad you found it agreeable.”

Hah! “Agreeable is not the first word I would have chosen, vhen—“

I stop myself from finishing the word. My nervousness is showing, I feel the wobble in my knees and the uneasiness in my breath as it escapes in small weak puffs of condensation in the frosty mountain air.

“I apologize, I did not realize it would make you so uncomfortable,” He says. His disappointment is clear to me, but more than that, he begins to tense up, like those walls I have finally broken through are being rebuilt.

Like the scene in Crestwood when he breaks it off…

“I am not.” I shiver slightly, and pull the long sleeves of my tunic down over my wrists. “It isn’t discomfort that stops me.”

Words seem few in number, and I sense that the discussion is over. Had I said something wrong? Or was it my hesitation? Did he feel rejected because I didn’t say “vhenan”? We walk, close, but not touching, until we are in the courtyard beneath the main hall. He stands, facing me, his eyes tracing the line of my jaw. “What gives you pause then?”

“Uncertainty. It has been a long time since I have…and, well…It is…I do not wish to…pressure you.” I am stammering. My confidence in his presence is steadily evaporating beneath the heat of my blushing cheeks.

He lifts my hand once again, bringing it to his lips one last time. “You are not. I have gone over the considerations of…”

My breath hitches in my throat as the words fall so gracefully from his lips. I see him steady, calm, compose himself, thinking carefully about his words, as he always does.

“…of engaging in such a relationship,” He continues. Finally my hand is left, and it lingers in the air a little longer than I was aware of, falling eventually to my side. “I would hope by now my intentions are clear. You do not need to fear me, vhenan.”

_If only that were true, my lonely wolf._

A billion butterflies are trapped in my stomach as he bows slightly and starts to ascend the stairs. It is then I notice Maxwell on the landing, watching, arms crossed defensively, and his face dark and shadowed. I can still make out the frown and the slight twitch in his brow as he watches Solas pass him on the stairs. He waits only a moment after my eyes meet his before he turns and heads back into the hall.


	17. Chapter 17

_Pacing, I try to sort out my thoughts, circling the silver and crystal fountain. It’s all too much._

_Too much, too fast, too new…_

_Too much._

_In the past months, I had gone from a no-name apostate with no memory, to a powerful force with the Inquisition, who happens to be in a relationship with an Elvhen god._

_I am not Elvhen. I am not human. I am not spirit._

_I am more. More…than something._

_My emotions and my thoughts are fueled by the Fade, my body was made…by the spirits._

_Cole appears, sitting cross legged on one of the walls of the garden._

_“Hello, Cole,” I say, coming to a stop._

_“It is too much, like fitting a pail of water into a single glass,” he mutters, focusing on me. “Real is real, but it isn’t. What happened, what was a dream? Is any of it just a dream? Or a dream caught, tangled, trapped in a dream?”_

_“Cole, please…”_

_He pops next to me, his hands taking mine. My hands shake, and my eyes somehow start to water. What is going on?_

_“Eyes open, you can’t see. You hear the noises, you smell the smells. Feet heavy, trudging, time weighs so much….” Cole’s eyes searched my face, although I know he was actually reading every deep, forgotten thought._

_“Cole…” I choke. It is too real._

_“It is ok,” the spirit says softly. “Things change, YOU changed, but that’s ok! She picked you because you are strong. You’ll be so much more than you were. You’ll save them all.”_

_“What do you mean Cole? Explain it to me.” I inhale, trying to slow my ever increasing heartbeat. “What is happening to me?”_

_“It’s almost done now,” my friend says, letting go of my hands with a smile. “They made you, the spirits; fading away in the Fade, they gave themselves to make you. You were made the way Mythal was made, by the energy of the Fade.”_

_Almost done with what?_

_“Growing. Like a sapling, taken from the forest, planted in the fancy garden. It is slow for the roots to take, but then, when they stretch, reach, grabbing for the soil and stones of the new earth, you make it yours, mix it with the old. You make it you.”_

_I don’t know what I am anymore._

_Cole takes my hand, and the world changes around me. The memory slowly coagulates, joining the magic passed by the spirits remembering how it was, and the figures appear._

_Mythal, reclined regally on her throne, beside her, Elgar’nan, stern, strong like stone, and just as sure. Where she brought light and comfort, he was the sharpness of reality, the harsh truth, the vengeance verses her justice._

_What does this mean?_

_Cole lets me go, walking up to the memory of Mythal, his hand running along the smooth arm of the chair she rested on, oblivious to the spiritual interruption. “You should have been here, before it went wrong, back when it all sang the same.”_

_Back when…before the Veil?_

_“She heard it, she could feel the potential; at first, you were just a spirit, long ways away, beyond the Fade, beyond this world. Then when she found you, she felt more. You were strong. But you were cold, small, weak. She brought you here, to grow.”_

_The ease of which the Evanuris reach and bend the Fade, the motions, although graceful and well-practiced, was familiar._

_“You are like her; she gifted you her power, because she knew you were strong, but it would take too much time,” Cole rushes to me, his face pressed in a confusing expression. “Too long, it takes too long.”_

_“Too long for what?” I ask aloud, watching the memory fade into darkness._

_“For you to wake up.”_

Not the dream I had hoped for.

Cole is still sitting at the end of my bed when I wake. He doesn’t move. Just…waits.

“Cole…”

“Dreams, wild, hot, some too warm, wanting, waiting. Others are too cold, alone, scared in the corner when the thunder roars, make it stop mamae. They are not mine.” He says. “But they are. You are strong, stronger than him.”

My eyes are still hazy from waking, but I rub them, sitting upright. “I am stronger than Solas? A man considered a god?”

“Strong like The Mother, but young, you have room to grow, your roots will spread. You and the Fade are one, like it was then. ” Cole smiles. “Do not worry, he cannot hurt you.”

He disappears in a blink of my sleep filled eyes, and my room falls naturally still, the only sounds coming from the window panes shifting against the wind, and the heavy sigh of my own breath.

Sometimes, I want to hate spirits.

~*~

I walk to the garden. The sun is comforting, and right now, I need it.

Somehow, I am stronger than Solas. The spirits made me in the same way that Mythal was created. That means I am…

I am Thedas’ newest Evanuris.

I don’t like the title. I don’t like what it means, what it has come to mean. I do not want worshipers. I do not want fame. I just want to help; I want to stop people from dying. I want to stop the world from dying. More importantly, how can _I_ be—essentially—a goddess?

Regardless of what the masses would believe, I do not want this power.

Walking still, the soft dirt and grass fade to pave stones and shaded halls.

Even with the power to do it, how can I possibly get the knowledge in time? Soon, we will go to the Arbor Wilds, where we will meet with the ancient protectors of Mythal’s temple. Soon, Maxwell will come face to face with the goddess in return for help.

I am stopped before a door. I don’t remember stopping. I look around, the gardens are empty for now.

The door opens with a quiet squeal of under-lubricated hinges. Several objects line the walls of the narrow room, all covered in protective sheets. Everything, except one large object at the far wall, positioned between two tall windows.

A mirror. No, it’s much more than that.

I hear it before my eyes actually see it. Soft music—like the hum of bees in spring—emanate from the extravagantly tall mirror. The frame is dark, some sort of unidentified metal, long since oxidized, but still sturdy, spans well over twice my height, surrounding what I would have assumed was glass.

Only mirrors are meant to reflect; this one did not.

As I moved closer, my feet leaving distinct foot impressions in the thick dust on the floor, I noticed first, I could see no reflections. The hum grew louder as I came within reaching distance from the surface of the glass, staring not into my own face, but into swirling colors, like paint floating on top of water. Blue, white, purple, green, undulating colors, mixing, moving, almost as if dancing to some magical song only the color could hear.

It’s an Eluvian. The gateways and passages the elves used. It is much bigger than I expected. And the magic…I reach to touch it, not really thinking about what would happen.

“Well, well, what have we here?” A woman’s sultry voice asks from the doorway. I spin around, my heart racing from the sudden intrusion. It’s Morrigan. Of course it’s Morrigan. I should have guessed I’d run into her here.

It is her Eluvian.

“I am sorry, Lady Morrigan.” I reluctantly back away from the artifact, “I did not mean to intrude.”

She stands next to me, looking up at the shimmering surface. “A little bird told me you’d be here, Saeris.”

“A bird?”

“My son. He was quite adamant about making sure you see it.” She smiled over at me—well down really, I never realized she was quite so tall.

“Has the Inquisitor already been introduced to it?” I ask, running my hand along the right side of the frame. Smooth. Cool, but inside, warm.

“He has. He was not as impressed with its potential as I would have hoped; shame, but it was expected. The Inquisitor is brave, but his strengths do not lie in history and ancient arts.” The woman sighs. “You know what this is.”

“Eluvian. Yes.” I look back at her. “Honestly, I do not know why I ended up here. But since I have, I suppose there must have been some subconscious reason.”

The woman chuckles, “one would assume that it was to see where it goes.”

My eyes light up, I could feel the excitement bubbling from my gut. Going to the Crossroads! I can find other paths, maybe I can find older knowledge, find what I need to save everyone. Morrigan lifts her arms, and with a motion, the Eluvian springs to life; the colors glowing, emitting such a light that it hurts at first to look into it.

“Come, we may speak on the other side.” The witch tells me, as she disappears into the mirror.

As I step through, I feel as if I am sucked into the “In-between” of the waking world and the Fade. Immediately, my body feels more at ease, stronger, more free, being this close to the Fade. The grounds are covered in a heavy mist, but even with my vision impaired, I can easily make out the remnants of magic still clinging desperately to the old stones and carefully shaped leafless trees.

It is just as I remember.

“I call it the Crossroads, where all such Eluvians meet.” Morrigan was saying, walking a few paces ahead of me. “But I suppose you already knew that.”

I nod, circling the mirror, running my hands over the ancient rock that holds it upright. “I do not know how much you know of me, Morrigan, but I can assure you, I know more than you think.”

She snorts, whispers something under her breath. She thinks I am being boastful? That I am trying to impress her, or win over her?

“The Eluvians, as you are aware, go many places, and not all of them are in Thedas.” She tries to sound like a teacher, instructing her pupil. She doesn’t believe me. “I have seen many things even Dreamers would never imagine.”

“I can imagine.” I am overwhelmed by the vastness of this space, and the hum that permeates the air is almost maddening. But then again, I know this place. Fen’Harel seeks to gain control of the Eluvians. Briala has some now. But if I can somehow use them to my advantage…”Could I ask you a favor?”

“Alright,”

“Can I have the key.” May as well be straight forward. No dancing around the subject with this woman.

“What?” She seems genuinely surprised.

“The key. I need to investigate the Crossroads.” I turn to her, quite serious, and fold my arms in front of me. “I am here to perform two very serious duties; the first is to save as many people in Thedas as I can. The second is to deliver the elves from their fate.” That sounds more cryptic than I intended, but it gets the point across.

“And you need my Eluvian to do this?” she asks, her face contorted in something between shock and disgust. Look, I am not urinating on it, or desecrating it; if nothing else I am honoring it by using it to help the people who created it!

“Yes, because at the moment, I cannot divulge where any others are.”

She paces, muttering to herself, rubbing her forehead. “I’ll tell you the password, but on one condition.”

“Alright.”

“Tell me, who brought you here?”

It is a reasonable request. One I cannot say will harm anything if I tell her. Part of it. With a smile, turning back toward the way we came, I say “your mother” and return to Skyhold.

~*~

“We will be leaving with the Inquisitor tomorrow,” Solas tells me as he finishes the section of mural in the rotunda. He is spattered with paint again, and he douses the brush in water to clean it. “I understand you will not be joining us.”

 “Yes, I have more research to do from the Emerald Graves artifacts,” I say, leaning on the desk beside him. He casts a spell, and with the wave of his hands, the paint is gone from his clothes and hands. “And Leliana has asked me to look into a few things for her.”

“That is unfortunate. I was hoping your attendance would ease the Inquisitor’s nerves.” Solas doesn’t look up from his work as he cleans his pallets and brushes. “He has been on edge since our return.”

“He is a shem, but he is still observant.” I pick up a clean brush, running the bristles over my fingers. “He knows something is happening, Solas. You need not lie to him.”

“I have not.” He takes the brush from me, putting it in the wooden case with the rest and closing it. “I told him my interest in you was more than academic, and he seemed satisfied with that.”

What a strange way of putting it. I chuckle. “Solas, he has been interested in me longer than you have, I am fairly certain. Do you not think he is simply jealous?”

The door opens from the main hall, and Blackwall enters, looking a little lost being in the main building for once. “I was told you need to speak to me, m’lady.” He says. “Good evening, Solas. Are you ready for another game of cards?”

“Perhaps,” he smiles sideways at me. “But do not get angry with me if you walk away empty handed again.”

Blackwall blushes beneath his dark beard and mustache. “You are cocky for someone who hasn’t learned the game.”

“I am a fast learner.” Solas grins. “We can play once I return with the Inquisitor. Tonight I will be preoccupied.”

“Very well, Solas. When you return, then.” Blackwall seems smug, but he will lose. I remember it from before; somehow Solas always wins.

“If you will excuse me, vhenan, I will meet you for supper. I must go prepare for the journey,” Solas bows his head slightly and leaves toward the garden entrance.

“So…we are going out to the Emerald Graves then?” Blackwall asks quietly, his voice still echoing off the stone walls.

I nod, and lead him toward the battlements, where I was relatively certain few people would overhear me. “Sorry, Blackwall, but the mission is somewhat secret. To everyone else in the Inquisition, aside from Cole, Leliana, you and I, we are searching for Warden artifacts.” We round the corner. He is focused on my words, and is already calculating battles. “We are, in fact, returning to the ruin Solas and I discovered.”

“I see,” he replies simply.

“There have been workers there for the past week, and by the time we arrive, I should have entrance to a very important artifact.” My arms are folded behind me, much like Solas usually does, and again, I feel very authoritarian. This is my mission. “If I can find what I hope is there, the Inquisitor may be saved.”

“From the mark on his hand, you mean?” Blackwall asks quietly, as we pass a patrol. “You think you have a way to stop it?”

“I think I’ll know how it was created in the first place.” I reply quietly. “Cole will know soon enough, and other than that this must be kept quiet.”

“Understood, Saeris.” He bows. “I will make sure no harm comes to you.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

 

~*~

“Fascinating! It says here that there were specific laws to determine eligibility to use the Eluvians…” I am pacing, one of the recovered books open in my palm. I am excited, learning about a culture almost entirely forgotten, lost to time and mistakes many times over. I finish the last piece of fruit tart, which I had been nibbling on for several hours, and dust the crumbs off on my hip.

Solas is reclined on his couch, a tome of some sort open on his lap. His head is resting on his fist, and he watches me ramble on. He answers in Elvhen, and I only notice after the first few times, I must be asking in—or at least partially in—the ancient language myself. I don’t even notice that I am swapping between the two, carrying on about the ancient details of life in the days of Arlathan.

“Vhenan, sit, lest you wear a path in the floors from your pacing,” He laughs, finally stopping my excited fidgeting after hours of reading and discussing the book. And we were only a third of the way through. I sit cross-legged on the floor in front of him, plopping the book into my lap. “I must ask, vhenan, where did you learn to speak Elvhen so fluently? I have never met anyone who has such a solid grasp of the language.”

My focus on the book immediately snaps. Shit. He can’t know, not yet. Make up something, something mostly true…Creators I hate this. “I am not sure, the Fade I suppose. Nowhere else would have sufficient resources to learn from.” I do not look up at him, keeping my eyes down, and my aura close to me. I cannot know if he believes me or not.

Sooner or later, I need to tell him. Regardless of his reaction, he should know.

Especially if I will be the one to stop him.

“Your accent is mild, you could work on that, but otherwise, your pronunciation and structure are flawless.” He adds, and I hear the turn of a page from his book.

“Thank you, vhenan,” I manage to say, somewhat normally. I continue my reading, hoping to ease the subject away from me. “Why do you suppose they restricted use of the Eluvians?”

“I imagine it was to slow the spread of information.” He says somewhat absently.

I look up at him. Of course I know the answer already, but I want him engaged, I want to hear his voice, I want to memorize the timbre of his voice, the way his lips move, the way his eyes glaze over when lost in memories and dreams long forgotten…

“To what end? Arlathan—from everything you have told me—was a center of learning and magic, why limit it?”

He looks down at me, and for a moment, he looks angry, but it fades just as quickly. His eyes dart down from my face, returning long enough to his hands to close his book. “It is a dark subject. Another time, perhaps I will tell you. It is late, my heart, and I wish to meet you in the Fade before I depart.” His eyes again travel down from my eyes, lingering somewhere near my lips, and a flash of that wild untamed wolf in him crosses his face.

_Stolen kisses in dark halls, his hand, grazing my cheek. Endless small touches, intimacies forgotten in the haze that is love…_

I glance down, initially to note the page I was leaving off on; instead it is to hide the blush and rush of heat that threatens to expose my blossoming arousal.

But then, I remember the look on his face when I bring up the ancient elves. I want to know what happened. I _need_ to know what happened…so I can save them too. I place a marker and carefully close the book. “Solas…”

He stands, and offers me his hand to help me up off the floor. Graceful, dignified, composed, sure, and calm; what could he see in me truly?

I am on my feet in an instant, and he carefully wraps his own cloak around my shoulders. His scent carries heavily in my proximity; my flush grows warmer. No, focus.

“Hush, vhenan. It is late.” He kisses my forehead and extinguishes the lights, leading me gently to the main hall.

“It is important.” I whisper, not wanting my voice to carry through the echoing main hall. “I need to know—“

“Not now, vhenan!” His voice suddenly harsh, angry, yelling. He stops at the door to the garden, opening it. “Please…”

I wish I could tell him why. Make him see; make him understand that he is not alone. “I am sorry.” I whisper, removing his cloak and handing it to him. “I will be fine. Sleep well.” And I hurry through the door, down the hall, and to the tower, without looking behind me, or waiting for an answer.

I lean with my back on the door, trying to steady my own heartbeat for what seems like hours. I can barely hear the slow creek of the heavy wooden door closing on Solas’s room, and I wait even longer before I am even remotely capable of considering anything.

I need to tell him who—what I am. I cannot keep lying to him. If I am to save him, Thedas, all elves, and the trapped Evanuris, I need him to tell me every detail. Right now, he won’t. Is it because of his guilt? Does he fear my opinion of him will falter? No, deeper than that.

Saving his life, his sanity, that is most important. I need to stop him. He won’t let me. His anger, the whip of his tongue when I ask; it is too regular, too fresh. How can I help him, when he refuses to allow help?

“Hot angry boiling in my head, make it stop! But she is cool, calm, like the rain on the flowers in the garden, making the white stone cold; she soothes the burning,” Cole mutters in the dark. “He didn’t mean to.”

Nodding, I stand straight. “I know, Cole. I am not angry.”

“You are hurting. Helping the hurts, but the hurting keep hurting themselves.”

I take up my quill and a scrap of parchment, and carefully write a note in my best Elvhen script;

_I am sorry I pushed so hard._

_It will not happen again._

_May your journey bring you safely back to me._

_Sleep well, my heart._

I grab note taking materials, and a small pouch and put a spare lyruim and healing potion inside from my travel gear, and sling it around my belt. “Thank you Cole, I have a plan this time.”

“Win the game, the apprentice beating the master. You are no pawn, and he is no king.” Cole whispers and disappears by the time I get to the door.

Calm, you can do this.

I peek out into the deserted garden. Quietly I ease the door shut, and pad carefully up the stairs. I am near silent and stop at Solas’ door. I fold my note carefully, and place one steady kiss on the outside, before slipping it beneath the door and heading back downstairs.

But my tower is not the place I head. Instead, I circle the garden, making sure once more, that I am not watched, before slipping into the dark room where the Eluvian rests in silent watch.

“Alright, let’s see where I can go.” I relax and the password passes my lips, and my thoughts linger a moment on releasing the lock on the mirror.

No arm movements, no flourishes. My thoughts turn into reality. Just like…

My eyes open as the light from the mirror pierces through my eyelids. Tonight I find answers.

~*~

Time has no meaning here. There is no sun, nor moon, nor are glittering stars visible to gauge my time as I carefully detail a map of the surrounding Eluvians. My notebook is covered in scribbled notes, shorthand, and doodles. I make a legend for my map, and I am careful to make notes in code.

Not that he wouldn’t recognize the layout if he were to see it.

I stop only when my eyes continue to water from lack of sleep. I do not know how much I have mapped out, but it is a start. Once I return from my mission, I will continue.

By the time I step through the mirror-door, the sun is shining through the windows of the storage room, and the scent of baking bread is filling the compound. There are few people out yet, but I have managed to spend the night in the Crossroads, rather than sleeping.

I race to my room, and cast an enchantment on my book, the ink immediately disappears, and I shove it into a desk drawer, beneath other correspondences.

Solas won’t be happy that I avoided the Fade.

I hear the muffled sounds of morning movement and I look out from my balcony. Solas, Varric, Cassandra, and Maxwell are speaking in the garden. Scouts come and go, offering information or whatever things they need before they depart.

My stomach twists, wanting to be with them, to protect them. No, I have work to do. They will be safe.

As they head toward the stables I make my way around the battlements, heading toward the gate. Three chargers and one mahogany hart trot with their passengers out from the gate, down the mountain path. I watch in trepidation as they depart; and only once do any of them turn round.

Solas’s eyes are tired, and sad, but he does nothing but returns to front and trot to take the lead.


	18. Chapter 18

The first day of travel was slow. Beyond my own excessive tiredness, we had to take a carefully detailed side rout to avoid using the same roads as the Inquisitor. Leliana and Harding had spent a great deal of time and energy drawing out these maps and cryptic directions, and I was not about to let that energy go to waste.

I was not yet what one would call an experienced rider, but it was a comfort to have my own mount on this particular journey; a beautiful and rare hart that I had no recollection of seeing previous to this excursion. Although she was apprehensive at first, the white hart soon grew accustomed to me, and the trip was made marginally more comfortable.

For the most part, Cole was present, but rarely seen. I would spy him, from time to time, picking flowers, or petting the wildlife. He did not speak, just simply was.

Blackwall, on the other hand, was a constant companion. At first, he was obviously nervous. I was unsure if it was the nature of our mission, or Cole’s presence, that put him on edge. By nightfall, he had loosened up, and we cracked jokes and he told marvelous stories. Not as detailed or scandalous as Varric’s, but plenty entertaining.

We were lucky that the first day proved uneventful, because the second was not so fortuitous. I had risen with the sun, the Fade and its spirit hosts had kept me company in the wilderness over the cold night. The subsequent daylight hours were spent mostly dismounted, coming across bands of Red Templars and fleeing rogue Freemen. I did my best to keep my companions healed through the day, but there was rarely more than an hour between battles, and I was beyond drained by the time we set up camp within the Emerald Graves.

The fire crackles intermittent with the snap of bugs getting too close to the flames. I hurt; as I finish mending a large cut on Cole’s back, I fall back on my heels. My head throbs with the mana deficiency that plagues me. I have a half healed wound on my thigh from a rogue arrow, and a handful of bruises and minor cuts from the battle over my entire body. I feel my arms grow stiff from an earlier attempt to rip my arms from their sockets, and I am too hot.

I managed to keep Blackwall pretty well healed, as he was taking the brunt of the attacks. Now, he tends the fire, and warming something resembling stew over the flames, tired looking but unharmed. My companions sit in silence as I finish my work, and finally break, falling to my butt on the soft damp dirt. “Well shit. I should have brought Bull along too.” I mutter, rubbing my forehead to ease the pressure. “Or Sera. Or Dorian…”

“The extra help would have made it easier on you.” Blackwall says from across the fire. He gingerly pours the stew into a mug and hands it to me. I sip at the hot food, not really tasting it. “You have a tendency to overdo it, my lady. You should be more careful.”

“I am careful, that is why I overdo it.” I mutter back, sipping again and getting a small chunk of potato. I chew absently.

He sighs, and sits closer to me; still well beyond arm’s length, but closer than before. “I appreciate the effort, but your skills are what’s needed. I am here to protect you, not the other way around.”

“It is just as important that we both return, Blackwall.”

He eyes me suspiciously. “Why do you say that, Saeris?”

So tired. My head aches. “Because everyone needs the chance to change, to redeem themselves, and you are no different.”

He visibly stiffens. I had not planned on this conversation, but I guess it is happening. “What could you possibly mean by that?” he seems angry, but I know it is defensive; he doesn’t know that I know.

“I know things, remember?” I add, uninterested in the food. I put the cup down and think briefly about drinking down that last lyrium potion I have in my packs. “I have always known, Blackwall. You do not need to get defensive; I haven’t told anyone yet, have I?”

He doesn’t speak, just turns in shock, staring into the fire.

“It is ok, she won’t hurt you.” Cole says, squatting nearby. “She knows about everyone, she is special.”

“Well, what do you know then.” He grumbles, still trying to measure the threat to his security.

“Your name, what you have done, and what will happen to you,” I say simply.

“Not good enough.”

I sigh. I really, really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. “You are Thom Rainier. You worked as a mercenary for a while, and took a mission that ended up slaughtering innocent people. You were the only one left to blame, and you ran. You were picked up by the actual Warden Blackwall, and he died protecting you from darkspawn on the way to the Warden compound where you would have undergone your Joining.”

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. I wonder if he is even breathing. Cole has disappeared. Probably for the best, I would have to explain why Thom—no Blackwall is allowed to live.

“This is why you have not been affected the same as the other Wardens; because you are not one, not truly.” I stand, and with the last of my mana, I cast a weak barrier around the small camp. “I know that some of your company will be arrested soon, if they haven’t already, and will be tried for your crimes, and executed.” I don’t look at him. I still work the barrier, forcing what magic I have left in me to spread around us. “But you will stop them, because you genuinely want to atone for what happened.”

He is silent. I wonder, for a moment, if it was a good idea. He could easily kill me now, I am powerless, and he could strike me fast before my back was turned. It is too late, if he is going to do it, I hope it is fast. “Why haven’t you told them?” I hear him ask finally.

He is looking at his sword, sheathed in his lap. The lines in his face grow deeper, as if this conversation makes him age far faster than time ever could. Regret is painted so thick on him that it is tangible. “Because, as I said Blackwall, you are trying to make things right. Sooner or later, the Inquisitor will find out, and the sooner you speak to him about it, the better it will be.”

“I do not deserve the right.” He throws the sword toward the pile of gear and stares into the fire again.

“Of course you do. Everyone deserves a second chance.” I try to smile, and I kneel down beside him. “You have more than proven your loyalty to the Inquisition, to the people of Thedas. When this is done, go through with The Joining, and finish what you started.”

He sighs, not looking at me, and stands. “I…need to think.” He mutters before disappearing into the dark.

~*~

_It is not so easy, saving everyone._

_Why did I think it would be?_

_The Fade leaves me in misty silence, no spirits come close, no design is created to fill my sleep. I came here alone. I need to think._

_What if I cannot figure out the Veil? What if I am not as strong as Mythal thought? It is a matter of an entire world burning, tearing itself apart. I cannot just sit and let that happen, even if my chances are so slim._

_He will get the rest of Mythal’s power in the end. He will have her power, and his own, combined, against me. I am still new, untrained, wild, where he has thousands of years of practice, and the voice of the oldest, wisest, most powerful soul in all of Thedas to guide him._

_What chance do I have?_

_“Do not lose hope.”_

_I look up from my focus, which was on the gray stone floor beneath my feet. Mythal stands there, a motherly smile gracing her lips. “Child, it was never meant to be easy. The best things in life never are.”_

_“But how can I do it? How can I possibly save them all?”_

_She shakes her head and behind her the mist parts, and we are standing in the Crossroads. “Because I will show you how to save as many as can be saved, Child.”_

_The mist redecorates the floors and hangs around the trees. “I came here, looking for answers.” I walk up to Morrigan’s mirror, and put a hand on the cold glass. It does not react beneath my hands. “I know you are near one, I have seen it. At the end, before you—“_

_“No spoilers, child. I like a good surprise.” She laughs, and hands me a roll of paper. “This is the map you were attempting to draw. Oh yes, I saw you, I knew you were there.” My surprise was blatant, and I open the scroll._

_In delicate scrip a detailed map lay before me, each labeled carefully. Eluvian’s that no longer worked were marked with an x, ones that were yet unfound by mortal hands, a star, and further on…”These are the ones that Fen’Harel has already claimed.” Mythal tells me without asking. They are unmarked, just the image of a mirror in ink. “You can gain access to the rest. I do not know how much will be helpful, but it is a place to start.”_

_“Thank you, Mythal.” I whisper. “I do not suppose you have a skeleton key that opens them all, do you?”_

_She laughs, and for a moment I am bashful. “Ever the optimist! In fact I do, but I cannot give it to you here. Memorize the map as best you can, and I will tell you how to find me. When the time is right, come to me, and I will give you the key.”_

_Finally, something worthwhile. I nod, and she gives me a comforting hug. It is still weird. “You have done more than I expected already, child. Even now his resolve waivers. Do not lose faith in yourself, my Child. When this is done, you will be well worthy of remembrance.”_

_The dream shifts and fades; the mist breaking as sunlight warms my face, and the cool breeze of morning shakes me from the Fade._

The camp is empty when I wake. I am alone, dew still clings to my blanket as I sit up. The sun is bright, although a chill still hangs in the air, and the earth steams as the sun warms it. For the first time in a long time, I am in a good mood.

Blackwall’s belongings are gone.

His horse, bedroll, backpack, his weapons and armor, all are missing; the only thing that remains is the embers of the fire, and my own travel items. Suddenly, my mood darkens.

He must have left while I slept, knowing that Cole would remain nearby to keep watch. I should have known he might flee, rather than risk me telling the Council of him. I should have thought that it was a possibility.

I thought he was better than that.

Heh, ever the optimist.

I gather up the last of my things, packing them onto my hart, humming to myself. I won’t let this get me down. I will have to explain what happened when we get back though. I am not looking forward to that.

I suppose, for now, I am basically on my own.

After traveling for the better part of an hour, Cole appears in the saddle behind me, holding a bundle of elfroot and embrium. He doesn’t say anything, just mutters and separates the two sacks on his lap. Still no sign of Blackwall.

It isn’t long after he appears that I feel it first. I stop the hart, and Cole disappears into the forest. Something is out there, watching.  I scan the forest, everything is quiet; almost too quiet. I see no halla, no nugs, no bears, even the birds themselves have gone still.

My hart grunts uncomfortably. She can feel it too. I dismount.

My feet hit the ground in time for an arrow to wiz past my head, lodging into a tree at the height my heart would have been. My mount bucks and tries to make a break for cover. I manage to throw up a barrier spell before two more arrows sing, and are deflected.

I see the glow of red lyrium eyes from the ridge of a stony hill, the bow fixed on me. I let my magic encase me, and a ball of white energy form in my palm. It is unattached to any specific element, nor is it Fade debris; it is pure, it is light.

It is me.

I shoot it at my opponent and as it lands, another archer fires. This arrow catches my left shoulder, ripping my robes and cutting the flesh, but otherwise deflecting from the remnants of my barrier. I see Cole appear behind the second archer in time for him to slit his throat, and disappear again. The first archer, now totally in shock by his comrade’s sudden departure, tries to run, and trips.

The magic doesn’t let him get far. He ends up tripping on yet another hidden templar, who also gets up and attempts to retreat. They are stopped.

And not by Cole.

The behemoth is massive; the red lyruim took over this formerly-human body, twisting it, growing and corrupting. It stood half again as tall as the archers, and the massive clusters of lyrium growing from it added intimidating bulk to the already hulking monstrosity.  Beside it, two more Templars, one knight, and one guard.

My gut is telling me to run. But then…

Behind them lies the ruins; my ruins. There is smoke coming from the burned remnants of carts, parts of Inquisition banners  barely cling to the charred poles. The grounds are littered with the brutally murdered remains of the Inquisition team.

And in the center of the carnage, I see Blackwall’s shield.

The blood curdling scream of the archers draw my attention back, and the lumbering lyrium behemoth starts bolting ahead, straight toward me, the other two Templars quickly following suit. The behemoth cries out, and I feel as if my ears would bleed; its war cry sounded as if every ounce of pain and anguish, the lies and corruption within it, all mixed and spilled out. If my blood could curdle, it would have.

The knight reaches me first; the swing is easy to dodge , and I use his running momentum against him, using the length of my staff to deflect his sword arm and forcing his body to make a sharp left, kicking him forward as he stumbles to the forest floor.

In a flash, I am bashed with a heavy tower shield as the Guard charges forward, running me through like a Druffalo. My lungs are forced to expel any air I had in them, as I am slammed up against a small tree with a bone snapping crunch. The pain is bearable, but only just, as it isn’t the first time my ribs have been broken. I will him to freeze, and as I feel his magic dampening aura begin to burn away at me, he is encased in solid ice, and I manage to squeeze out of the confines of his shield in time for the Behemoth to slam down one monstrous, solid, bulbous appendage of solid lyrium. It snaps the small tree, and the Templar guard, straight through.

The Behemoth wails again, the cry shaking me to my core as I stumble as quickly as I can to the clearing. I fall beside Blackwall’s shield, picking it up, hoping for some clue. There is blood on the inside.

Cole darts in front of me in time to take the hit from the Templar Knight. The spirit goes flying as the man punches him hard enough to send him several yards behind me. I have enough time to throw up a barrier as another swing throws me just as far.

Cole flanks him, shanking him with deadly force, but the Knight will not fall; he trudges forward, sneering, his eyes glowing that evil blood lyruim red. I command another spell, and his armor frosts over, but he continues to move, albeit slowly. Another spell, a mass of Fade debris fires from my staff, pummeling the Templar backwards, landing on his back against the remains of an Inquisition scout; the sound of crushing brittle bone and the slop of organs beneath his weight make me vomit.

Without a second to think, I am standing, the Behemoth lumbers toward me, and again, I call on the power of ice to encase it. The monster’s legs are firmly planted to the ground, and it struggles against my magic.

An arrow whirls past my head, and I hear the scream of the archer’s life ending a moment later, as Cole swiftly assassinates the crude soldier. I swing my staff, the bolts of ice shooting from its head in rapid succession, barreling into the Behemoth. It staggers against my force, but I know the ice will break soon, and it will come after me again.

Three arrows barely miss me, and the Knight is on his feet, charging at me. My staff flares and fires, striking the Knight over and over, but it does not slow. I cannot yet freeze another target! I brace for impact.

It crashes into me with enough force to not only break my staff clean in twain, but also my right arm is shattered on impact. Now the pain of my earlier injury flares to life, as I can no longer favor this side. As I land, I tuck my arm against my body, reaching for my last lyruim potion.

The light begins to grow in me; the magic elating and enticing me. So much power! I summon a blizzard, localized on the Behemoth, who is now free of his confines. It is no ordinary blizzard spell, it pulls in the Templars, yanking them off their feet, including the behemoth, freezing them solid, encasing them in thick ice.

Arrows fly at my head, and I feel one knick my ear. A snap of my wrist and he is obliterated in a flash, submitted to death by crushing Fade.

Then I see Blackwall, he fends off another archer, shieldless, bloodied, his shield arm is not used, obviously injured. The ferocity in his swordsmanship is dangerous and keen, and the archer falls, nearly decapitated. “Saeris! Run!” He yells from the hill.

No.

The gathering magic in my damaged body flares to life. My left hand glows with my light, and a barrage of force flies from them, homing in on the Behemoth. It cries, but the onslaught continues. Every thought, every ounce of my magic swells into my magic, and it gathers.

I will not fall. I will not run.

The magic missiles of white light pepper the monstrosity relentlessly. Even as an arrow lodges in my thigh, I fire. More. MORE!

It cries as it breaks free of the ice, stomping over the still frozen knight beneath it. Roaring it charges. The light gathers, and a single beam fires forward, finding its target. The lyrium monster is obliterated, leaving nothing but dust and a smattering of formerly human blood.

“Saeris, what the hell do you think you are doing!” Blackwall runs up, dropping his sword and digging out a potion. “You are going to get yourself killed. Run damn you.”

“No. I will not run. You and Cole will come with me.” I say, taking the vial. I pull the arrow out of my thigh; I nearly bite my tongue off with the grunt I make when the metal is released. The potions stop the bleeding, but my arm is still unusable. 

It is too quiet.

I focus behind Blackwall, and see three archers. Then more appear, and more. Circling us, bows ready. The Templar Knight laughs as he stands from what remains of the ice prison he had been subjected to. The archers inch closer. Blackwall has no time to reach for his sword before the volley begins.

My magic flares to life, shielding him.

_You stop your own power. You are stronger…You are more…_

It echoes, bouncing, reverberating through my soul, through my head, with painful force.

_Stop_.

The arrows continue. My strength is failing. Blackwall reaches for his sword, but grabs his shield instead. Arrows fly, barraging us, clinking off Blackwall’s armor and shield, lodging in my magic barrier, slowly breaking it down.

_Stop_.

Cole darts between targets, stabbing with deadly force, but they strike back. Before long, the broken body of my spirit friend lays helpless on the soil floor.

_STOP_.

The magic erupts from me with a massive shockwave. Time slows to a crawl, and I feel it—the magic—pulse out of me with such intensity I feel my nose and eyes begin to bleed. Every fragment of red Lyrium is pulverized; broken, torn, ripped from the corrupted flesh until the battlefield ran dark with blood. Every Templar, every archer, even the remnants of that behemoth shatter beneath me.

As the last wave ends, I fall to my knees. “Andraste’s holy ass...” I hear Blackwall mutter, before noticing my panting, broken body collapsed on the ground. He helps me stand and I hobble to Cole, and with the last of my failing energy, I give him the best heals I could muster. He manages to sit up in time for me to fall quite unconscious at Blackwall’s feet.

~*~

“I know you are awake.” Blackwall says to my left. The world is still dark beyond my closed eyelids. My body aches, and my arm is still very broken.  “It is still dark. Cole is looking for food.”

“Are you ok?” I ask finally. “I thought you…I thought you ran away.”

“I almost did.” His answer was filled with shame, and I did not doubt that he meant it. “The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to prove you right. But then I saw the ruins. I remembered what you told me of them, and I was talking with one of the scouts then the attack occurred.”

“What happened? Did anyone survive?”

My eyes open, a flickering fire lights up the man’s face. “One or two, perhaps. They got out before the main force.”

I nod. “It is too dangerous here. I hope they made it out alright.”

He nods in agreement, and pokes the fire with a stick in his good hand. A few moments pass in silence before I hear him mutter, “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“I was ready to defend you, I would have given my life so you could kill those bloody bastards, but you hesitated. _You_ shielded _me_.”

“I already told you, you are just as important as I am. You deserve to try and get redemption.” I smile, and pat his hand. The movement was excruciating, but I do my best to hide it.

“You are an amazing woman, Saeris.” He says. “I just hope I can be worthy of your wishes.”

I turn, looking into the fire. He could go now. He could make it to the warden camps, he could get to a commanding officer, he could do the Joining now. “Run.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asks.

“Run. Go find the Wardens now. You can go through the Joining, then you can be at peace with yourself.” I do not look back at him. I can’t believe I am telling him to run from the war, just to ease his own mind.

“I can’t do that. I have pledged myself to this cause, and I have every intention to see it through. If they find out, they find out, and I will deal with that when it happens.” Blackwall shifts, and Cole appears with arms full of food stores from the scout’s camp. “You do not run, even when you should. You face every obstacle with fierce determination. If you can do all that, well, let’s just say this Warden can too.”

I pull myself up to a sitting position with a tense groan. Cole stuffs a bedroll behind my back. My bedroll. “She found me.” Is all he says, and I hear the familiar huff of my hart’s snort behind me.

“Never have I been so sure of my decision to join the Inquisition. With a force like you in its ranks, the world will have to recognize it. We will do a great deal of good, Saeris. I am glad to fight at your side.” Blackwall smiles, and hands me a bit of hard bread and a flask of what smells like brandy.

“I could tell them you had warden business to take care of. They will never know.” I say, taking a healthy swig off the flask and handing it back.

“I am staying as long as possible. You say I’ll stop my men from hanging for my crimes? Then I will figure it out then. That is my final answer. This warden fights with the Inquisition.” He takes two good swigs of brandy, coughing after the second, and reseals it. “No more talk of this. We need to rest enough to get as far away from here as possible. It is not safe enough to look for this…whatever you came for. I am sorry.”

“No, it is fine. It will have to wait. I will risk no more lives to this clue.” I say, chewing the hard bread with some difficulty. “We leave tomorrow.”

Cole hands me a handful of healing potions, and I reluctantly quaff every one of them. With the pain reduced, and the swelling dealt with, I finally drift into a dreamless slumber.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Leliana is visibly frustrated with the news of the ruin site. She was sent word by other Inquisition scouts of the discovery of the two escaping scouts; floating in the river, dead with the telltale Freemen weaponry lodged in their bodies.

“I am sorry, Leliana. I did not know this would happen. I have no memory or vision of this place, it is new to me.” I look at my hands, forcing them to remain as still as possible, to hide my fear and sorrow over loosing so many scouts.

She sighs, and rubs the bridge of her nose. “No, I should have known. I was still receiving reports saying the Templars and Freemen were still a threat; I just didn’t realize they would continue to hound that location.”

“It is an oversight we are both responsible for. You may compensate their families from my pay. I know a few of them had young families here.”

She nods and scribbles a note, handing it off to a messenger. “No, they are Inquisition scouts, not your personal guard. But the thought is what counts. Thank you Saeris.”

“Once Corypheus is defeated, I will return to the site; the Templars will not be an issue at that point. I hope.” I say, bowing. “Until then, I would recommend avoiding the area, except to keep an eye on the ruins. I feel it is safe to say that we do not want the enemy getting their hands on that information.”

She agrees, and begins to take notes. I take my leave.

My shoulder still aches, and my arm is still sore, but magic and medicine has basically regrown my arm. The damage to my arm was too extensive for me to heal it entirely on my own, prior to arriving at Skyhold, but over the three days since my return, it has gotten better. Dorian gave me an earful when he saw me battered, riding double with Blackwall (his horse had been slain in battle); probably gave poor Blackwall a lashing too, but I was graciously preoccupied during that little discussion.

Hopefully, the bruising will subside before the Inquisitor returns; I do not want to explain everything to him…and much less, Solas.

The day is yet young, so I head to the healer’s tent to lend a hand where it is needed. Although there are a handful of seriously injured or ill patients, since there have been relatively few major skirmishes lately, the number is surprisingly low. By lunch, I have made my rounds and cleaned up.

Free time is a rarity, but I feel a break is warranted after the mission failed so spectacularly. So, in true Skyhold fashion, I am happily curled around a pint of a moderately strong alcoholic beverage, with a plate of bread, cheese, and nuts.

“Want some company?” A familiar voice asks, sitting across from me before I answer. “Boss left you behind too, eh? Thought you were out hunting those Warden camps.”

“Hello Bull,” I greet, popping a couple nuts into my mouth. “I was, just got back. Didn’t Dorian tell you?”

“Well yeah, I just wanted to hear it from you.” He laughed, peeking into my mug. “I never took you for a day-drinker. Figure Solas would have you on fruit juice and water like a babe.”

I take a healthy swig, and put the mug down, calling for two more from the barkeep. “With the trip I had, I think sobriety is overrated.”

“Hahah, see, I knew I liked you. Although, sobriety is usually overrated.” He downs the first mug in one go, slamming it with a confident and content sigh. “Not bad, but not good for getting shit-faced.”

“My goal isn’t ‘shit-faced’, Bull. But do help yourself. I’ll even pay.” I wink at him, sipping again at my drink and chewing on some of the dried bread. “As long as it’s not that expensive.” He gets up and orders some drink from the keep, and I focus on eating enough to not get too drunk. Bull is good at his job, and I will not be giving him the means to exploit me.

“So kid, what happened out there that has you drinkin’ so soon.” He takes a swig, and coughs. Must be strong stuff.

“Ran into a camp of Inquisition researchers and scouts,” I say, staring into the depths of my mug. My reflection shimmers on the surface; it’s too dark to really see much. “Red Templar bastards took out the lot, the two that escaped, apparently got hunted down by the Freemen runaways. Blackwall and I cleared out what we could, but…”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s when the arm thing happened then?” He takes another swig, coughing. I suspect he is acting. Fishing for information. No, the Qun will not have me either.

“Yeah, one of those bastards ran me over, would have broken me worse if I hadn’t braced for it. Staff was as good as firewood after that though. Solas will be thrilled I’ll finally get an upgrade.” I swallow the food I had been chewing for too long, and wash it down with drink. “Been on my case about that since my return from the Exaulted Plains.”

“Yeah, so, about you and Solas…” he smiles, leaning in. Yeah, he’s acting. “You two uh…you know…”

I chuckle. “You are only asking because Dorian wants to know.”

He acts taken aback by that, but laughs, “he won’t stop talking about it. At least I tried.”

“Come on, Bull, I know you could try harder than that.” I finish the drink, and shove the mug to the end of the table, taking up a second. “I am sure you already know the answer anyway.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you are Ben-Hassrath, your training would have given you the means to read even the smallest reactions to your question.” I sip, looking up over the top of the mug.

“Heh, you’re good, kid,” Iron bull smiles, swallowing down the last of his drink. “Boss said you “knew stuff”, but I didn’t really believe it.”

“I could safely tell you more, if you are interested,” I add, trying to sound uninterested. I eat a little more as the slightest muscle twitch in his eyebrow indicates he is thinking.

“Sure kid, show me what you’ve got.”

“The Qun are going to offer an alliance soon.” I whisper, leaning in. “Because of a bunch of smugglers on the Storm Coast.”

He squints his eyes just a little, watching me sip my drink. “Anyone could know that.”

Oh? So he must have gotten the note already. I wonder how Maxwell will react? Should I warn him of the ambush?

No. Because then he may attack us later…

“How could I? Do your Chargers make a habit of sharing your secrets? I do not know what sort of format your people utilize to send messages, so I could hardly know how to decipher it.” I lean back, somewhat smug, cocky with my play. “And you probably got the message while I was in the Graves anyway.”

He leans back, acting again, I suppose, and laughs nervously. “Damn girl. You are right though. Anything else?”

Ambush, no, I can’t say that. “Gatt will be your contact for the assault. Funny little elf, isn’t he? I wonder how old he was when he was saved by the Qun.”

He smiles. I smile back. There is a moment there, when we both know there is more to be said, but I will not do it. He is smart; who said brawn has no brains?

“Weird. Just fuckin’ weird,” He laughs and stands. “Good talkin’ with ya, kid. Enjoy your drinks.”

“Bull,” I stand, rushing to him and grabbing his arm. “Have you told Max—the Inquisitor yet?”

“Na, was going to when he got back.” I feel him tense under my hand, and a brief flash of uncertainty shadows his piercing eyes. Then he leaves the tavern.

So many problems left to solve. I do not know how long until the Temple of Mythal attack. How many people can I help before then? How much time will I have afterwards? I have done so little, and I am running out of time.

“Saeris, you alright?”

I look up, seeing Blackwall coming up to the tavern. I nod, and try to look collected. “Yes, just thinking.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t know what sort of thing has you worried, but I can assure you, it will work out.” He smiles and passes by me, entering the tavern and sitting at the counter without saying another word.

I can’t lose hope. I can’t lose faith.

In me.

Or him.

I make for the garden, for the Eluvian. And I do not care who sees me.

The grand mirror flares to life as I whisper the password, and I do not hesitate before stepping through, into the Crossroads beyond.

~*~

“…but ser, she asked not to be disturbed—“ I heard a guard say at my door. I had enough time for me to cover up the map and notes on the Crossroads, before my chamber door flies open with a slam.

I yawn as Solas enters, obviously tired from his journey, and obviously angry. “Are you mad? Running off to the ruins, you were lucky you weren’t killed!” he says pulling me up from my chair by the shoulders. “Who knows what sort of magic still resides there; some trap could have gone off, a rogue spell still lingering in the stone. It is too dangerous, what possessed you to do such a thing!”

My eyes are burning, and the spot where his hand firmly holds my formerly fractured arm aches with his pressure. “Solas I—“

I cannot finish the sentence. His face is still covered in the dust from travel, sweat still dots his furrowed brow, and a new expression, a new emotion I had not expected…Worry. I stay still, in panicked silence as his ragged breath slows and his eyes get ever so damp. He is shaking, and trying so hard to hold it back.

“I thought…when I didn’t find you in the Fade…” His hands release me, and instead he leans on them, his head hanging down. “Cole…he told me you went there to help. We passed through, on the way back. I saw it…I found your staff…”

“Solas,” I manage to choke out before he nearly collapses onto me. He is still in his battle attire, even his bags are on his back. I barely manage to walk him to the couch before he is completely passed out. By the firelight, I can see dark circles around his eyes, he hasn’t bathed in days, which was unusual for him; he usually did that by magic if not by natural means.

It must have been days since he tended is own needs.

I hear a soft knock at the door, and Josephine steps in. She is concerned and signals for me to come to her.

“The Inquisitor is still several days away. Scouts say he ran in on foot, his horse was left at a camp in the Dales two nights ago.” She whispers, looking past me, to the back of the couch. “One scout claims he started running then, and never stopped.”

My poor wolf. I had not considered…

“Josie, I know you are busy, but could you have a spare shirt and pants brought up? And have our morning meal brought up as well.” I ask. It is my responsibility. “I will care for him; it is my actions that caused it. Perhaps suggest that someone travel back to meet with the Inquisitor.”

“Sera is already on her way, Searis,” she scribbles notes. “I’ll have food and drink brought up, and a change of clothes for Solas. Anything else?”

“No, I will take care of the rest, thank you.”

The Antivan turns and leaves in a hurry, and I leave the door cracked open for whoever brings my requests. Silently I stash away my notes and the map, and add another log onto the fire. He mutters in his sleep, Elvhen, but that is all I could gather.

My poor wolf, running all this way, worried for me. Was there a trap there? Was there some spell that would cause me harm, if the stones had been removed?

It was something I had not considered.

It isn’t easy removing armor from a full grown man who is passed out on a couch. By the time I have gotten down to his tunic and trousers, he is in a strange, half-sleep. He responds to my actions, but his eyes are closed, and when I open them to look, they are empty, obviously lost to the Fade. He looks so much older; the worry lines are deeply crusted with dirt and sweat, his cheeks seem sunken in. Oh Solas, my love, what did you do?

The servant girl comes in with a bundle of clothes, placing them on the table silently. I nod and she bows out, closing the door with a soft thud. I wave my hand, and the magic flows, locking the door securely, before continuing.

My attentions return to my poor elf, and, sitting up, I lean him back to rest against the couch pillows. In my bathing room, I carefully craft runes in the tub, and magically fill it with water. It won’t take much time to warm up; and I add a few drops of lavender oil and mint to the water. I bring in a stool, and gather soaps and clothes nearby, before gathering up my weary _vhenan_ from the couch.

It is surprisingly easy to get him out of his close now. I simply asked him, and when he refused, I say he cannot bathe with his clothes on, and he lets me remove them, and guide him gently to the tub. He sinks back into a full slumber once he is submerged, which makes bathing him difficult; I roll up a towel and place it under his neck as a pillow, and hope he doesn’t slip underwater.  I roll up my sleeves and get to work.

After an hour of soft scrubbing, gentle urging for him to sit up, lie back or “clean that” in a couple cases, I am content with his cleanliness. It is surprising that he never wakes up, or gains any real cognizance. How long has it been since he slept?

Is he even really sleeping? Could this just be a trick of Fen’Harel? Do I care if it is?

As he sits, a towel covering his more temperature-sensitive areas, I turn down the sheet in my own bed. I will not try to get him to his quarters. Not now. When I return, he is dabbing away the water from his neck, acting still asleep, or punch drunk, or actual drunk really.  His eyes remain closed, his face steadily relaxing. “Come, vhenan, it is time for rest.” I whisper, and he stands with me, letting me guide him.

It must have taken him a lot to trust me. To give me this much control, this much freedom with him, will he tell me who he is in the end? He doesn’t know what I am capable of, and yet…

He mumbles something as I gently lower his head onto the pillows, and pull the blankets to his chest. “Hush, vhenan, sleep, I will be with you soon.” I whisper in Elvhen, and kiss his forehead softly. His body relaxes into a final submission to sleep as I pull away. Now cleaned of dirt and toil, he looks as young as before, the lines of his strain fading back into the normal features of his face.

A yawn escapes me, and I am aware it is quite late now. I pick up his clothes, and a small piece of paper falls out of them. It is immediately familiar, and I pick it up. It is my note, soiled, damp with sweat, but perfectly folded and in one piece.

He had kept it with him during his journey.

I place it, with his things in a neat pile by the door, and clean his armor with a few spells, hanging them on my armor stand in the corner. Finally, I am too sleepy to do much else, but add another log onto the fire, and grab a small blanket from my desk chair. I remove my robes and underdress, leaving my smallclothes on, and lay down on top of the blankets, using just the small throw blanket as cover. I should be warm enough with the fire going, and I will need to be awoken easily if he needs me.

Does he need me? Or is it just a fleeting dream of mine?

Another yawn. My eyes grow heavy, and I turn on my side, facing Solas, who sleeps peacefully.

I should tell him what I am, what I know. Show him he isn’t alone.

Yawn.

I reach to his face, and run my fingers down his cheek and jaw. Someday, I may not be able to do this. All of these small moments, the intimate, flashes of time…soon they will end.

Yawn.

But for now…

Sleep.

_The screen—that is what it was called, right?_

_Lights, flashing brilliance, the image moves, talks, voices I know. The game…Dragon Age…_

_Fighting to the ancient doors of the temple; so many lives splayed beneath the brilliant foliage of the forest. Then inside…_

_The trials…walk the path of devotion, make yourself worthy…_

_But inside, inside they die. The ancients fall beneath the corrupted lyrium. So much history and…pure bloodlines, lost._

_Save them too?_

_The Well of Sorrows. Who should drink? But then…Solas gains Mythal’s spirit, whoever had the well in their body will answer to him…_

_Not the Inquisitor, he is too important._

_I could do it. I could understand._

_But I need to stop Solas, I am too important._

_Must be Morrigan._

_Then she can be reborn as Mythal, as Flemmeth. She doesn’t know yet._

_I will know how to answer the Elvhen, when the time comes. But how to save as many of them now as I can?_

_I cannot venture there alone, it would be unsafe. The Templars are too numerous, and if I am followed, it will be worse. Do they dream?_

_Yes, perhaps, if I get close enough, I can find them in the Fade. Yes, I can warn them. Hopefully, they will listen, they will hide, or at least be able to hold out a little longer. Or…_

_Abelas might destroy the well now. No, no that can’t happen. Even if the mirror shatters as I have seen it in my memory—on the screen of glowing images—I can gather the pieces, I can remake it, make a new key…_

_Of all the things to consider now…_

_The Fade changes, remakes my memory of the bath house. I can feel the water around my waist; the tension and admiration for each other are so heavy, so strong, the image is clear, unwavering, and appears almost as solid as a dream._

_For the first time…I felt adored. Yes, that is the word. Worshiped is not right, not now. Not ever. I want to be loved, to be cared for in entirety, to be wanted, desired…_

_Bodies in the water, the glide and tender touch of my love’s hand, washing away the strain and stress, making me feel…_

_Making me_ feel _._

_My resolve is shaking. Will I be able to stop him? Will I have to watch him destroy himself? Will I be left to the ages, holding onto his broken body, crying into eternity? I must remain vigilant; I must be able to fight._

_But one look, one glimmer of his eyes…_

_Oh and his touch…Creators if I had to find sustenance on one thing, it would be his touch. The sensations it causes, coursing, calling to my body in ways no other thing could. Was it the ways of the Elvhen, long ago? Or was it something more, something deeper, more meaningful…_

_I would gladly spend a thousand lifetimes finding out._


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally...NSFW!  
> you have been warned ~.^
> 
> <3

I wake to the soft patter of knocking at the door. I open it to find the requested meals bundled in a basket just outside, the steam rising in the predawn morning. I bring it inside, setting it on the small table by the fire. Solas has barely moved.

He now sleeps on his side, his arm stretched out, as if he had woken, and had been reaching to touch me. Perhaps he did it in his sleep? Is that too much to ask, that he subconsciously desires my touch, even in his state?

A girl can dream.

I add wood to the embers in the fire place, and spark it back to life. Perhaps it’s not just a dream…I shake the thought from my mind, and I gather up the small blanket and lay back down. The breast band I had worn is bunched and digging into my flesh uncomfortably. I remove it, tossing it to the floor, finally feeling free from its constriction. In moments, I am dozing in a hazy half-sleep, barely aware of the world around me, but not asleep enough to fall into the Fade.

The sun is warming my exposed back, and I am subtly aware of his touch as my mind connects with my body once again. I am laying on my stomach, the small blanket barely covering my back-end and legs, my arms laced beneath a pillow, my head facing away from him. Solas’s soft fingers trace the lines down my back, outlining some design in the morning sun. The simple gesture leaves my nerves acutely aware of his proximity, and the scent of his musk growing ever more pungent in the bedding.

“Good morning, vhenan.” I whisper, turning to face him. My hair is instantly in my face, making me look disheveled and quite silly. A smile perks up one side of his lips as he takes that hand to brush away the rogue locks. He is leaning on his right forearm, his left, after moving my hair, returning to tracing glyphs on my back. “Sleep well?”

He hums in a somewhat affirmative manner, not taking his eyes off my bare back. He looks totally at peace, here in the dim morning light, running his fingertips along my skin, sending shivers down my body, and waves of ecstasy to my core. I close my eyes, and let the sensations fill my senses. I feel myself uncontrollably dampen and swell with each steady moment of his caress. My cheeks flush, and telltale goose-bumps sprinkle down my arms and legs.

“Are you cold?”

Solas does not wait for me to answer; he shifts the covers, pushing aside my small throw blanket, instead inviting me beneath the sheets. It is warm, his body has made the normally cold mattress comfortable, and the scent of him surrounds me.

“You are feeling better?” I mumble, still delighting in the intimacy of this moment. I turn over, laying on my back, but I do not take my eyes off him. In the light, he truly does look like a god; his skin glows with divine light, almost glowing beneath the sun.

“Yes, and I thank you for tending to my needs.” He looks away a moment and I reach up, my palm cupping his cheek, and forcing his gaze back to me.

I smile; his eyes seem so unsure, scared, worried, it is all messed up, tangled and yet…beautiful. I scan every detail of his face, his chest and shoulders. How long will I be able to know this? How many moments will I have before…His face calms, and I pull him down, raising myself from the mattress to meet his lips.

At first, the kiss is just that, comfort, connection, a symbol of my affections. The kiss is deep, begging him to accept me, to feel all of the emotion, the core of my love, and all of the sensations that no words can describe. Let me be me, with my faults, stumbling, crawling, learning to be more like me. Let me be more than this supple flesh and eager sex.

He answers.

Solas’s touch is firm, but kind, and he leans me back, our lips never losing contact. His arm, from elbow to fingertip, buries beneath my back, pulling me close in one gentle scoop of his strength. His chest presses down as his arm finds stability on the bed along the side of my head.  My hands move of their own volition, exploring the tiny scars, the stretch of muscle, and the taught, soft skin of his back, as he lays over me.

Finally, the kiss breaks, my body is so hot, so alive with sensation that his pulling away immediately leaves me shivering despite the covers. The look on his face is totally indescribable in appearance; like his scent, I could only imagine it is the total and complete submission to his desires.

He peppers my lips with soft kisses, trailing to the base of my ear. I exhale, heavy and shaky as his course slows, lingering, sucking, kissing, nibbling at the sensitive skin of my neck and collar. His breath is heavy, controlled, and hot in my hair. I feel him inhale long and steady. “I never knew…how sweet you smelled…” he whispers between kisses. The fact that he spoke in Elvhen is lost on me, as he mutters such pleasant thoughts aloud, trailing his lips from my neck to my chest.

He finds my breasts acutely aware of his presence, my nipples already hard and sensitive to his touch. He explores them, tasting them, molding and feeling them, savoring every aspect of me. His motions, caresses, his kisses and words, slow, sopping with hidden desire, with the strength of his emotion. It is almost as if he is trying to sear every moment into his eternal memory…As if this was the last time he would have me.

“Vhenan…”I groan, barely audible over the sound of rustling bed sheets. His hand, cool to the touch, trails down my arm, dropping to my ribcage, and following the curve of my waist. The trail his fingers leave on my skin feel alive, energized, as if his very essence—his connection to the fade—the magic that is truly his, pours into me. It feels not like heat, not like electricity, not cold or sharp… Every place his fingers run on their painfully slow rout down my body is rejuvenated, pulsing with energy foreign to me, but welcomed so readily I whisper for him not to stop. I can feel the dampness of my sex already soaking into the sheets by the time his hand crests my pelvis bone, sliding so confidently to my mound. This time, I do not stop him.

He sucks gently on my nipple, pulling away to look down upon my half-closed eyes and sweaty face. “You are so beautiful…” he whispers kissing me once, and pulling the blanket down, exposing my writhing frame beneath. “Never did I expect to find something so perfect…”He watches his fingers lace down between my thighs, and when he feels the moisture of my arousal, an audible, resounding groan escapes his lips, and his eyes close in bliss. How long has it been since he has felt a woman so wet, and just for him?

My arms, having fallen from his back as he sat up, are limp on the pillow under my head. The magic pulsing from his fingertips send me nearly spinning with desire, and my hips are fighting for control to grind against him. As his fingers slowly circle, centering in to my hardened nub, my hands clench at the pillow. The pleasure is almost painful.

His touch would have been enough to send me whirling into ecstasy, but whatever magic he employed, whatever energy that now beautifully assaulted my body, has me wishing both to fall into my release, and for this wonderful torture never to end. It takes what little cognizance I have remaining to keep myself from climax before he even enters me.

Words, beautiful words tumble from his lips as he watches his fingers caress my clit, watching my back arch, my hips cant toward his hand, relishing every blissful moment. I cannot think. Only hot, wanting, the feral impulses of my sex, and this man, his body and mind, slowly melding into mine. My eyes close as his skilled hands continue, caressing, circling, rhythmic, steady, calm; his lips lay gentle, loving kisses across mine.

Closer. Closer…

I feel myself tighten and swell, my legs clamp together, trying to ease the growing need to be filled. He kisses down the closest side of my neck, as he shifts himself closer to me. I feel his erection, hot, heavy, rubbing in gentle undulating thrusts against my thigh. I groan. His chuckle response is somewhere between gloating and animalistic desire.

I loosen my hand from its grip on the pillow, pulling the sheet up to cover his waist, before allowing that hand to explore my prize. Creators I have waited…

He moans in my ear as my fingers trail from his waist, tracing up the lines of his stomach and chest muscles, and back down, slowing as they pass his belly button, slowing even further the closer they come to his manhood. My fingers barely dance upon the skin of his length, feather light, drifting from base, over every smooth inch, finally to the head, already moist with his fluids. My thumb pulls this bead from the head, and I lace my fingers about him, and stroke steadily, soft, but firm, down to his base. He almost growls. I mimic his rhythm, up, down, up, until my hips also move to the same undulation.

His length is dry, hard, hot, and I take my hand away, he continues to grind it against my hip. I trace his arm down to my dripping sex, and wipe away some of the moisture. He breaks his kiss, his eyes sparkling as I use my own moisture to lubricate my work. His arms shake as my slick hand grasps him, and continues the steady dance.

Up. Down. He grows harder, thicker, hotter.

Up. Down.

His fingers stop, his eyes close, his body shakes and tenses. His kiss is hard, hot, hungry on my lips, and I feel his groan quivering in his stomach and groin. I do not stop, my grip tightens ever so slightly. Up. Down. Up…

He shakes, his lips quake on mine, “Vhe…” he tries to whisper, hoarse throaty, but he stops. He pulses, and a wet hand grabs my wrist. My grip releases, and he pulls my hand away, panting. His lips move, mouthing words, chastising himself for getting too close too soon.

A very content moan escapes me as I wrap my arms around his neck pulling him down. He does not resist, and he lays atop me, my legs mirroring my arms about his waist. I feel so much more than just the heat of his desire laying against my sex, more than the magic that flows so readily out of his hands into me, more than the caress and the sweet murmurs in the early sunlight.

This kiss, as his sweating body is pressed gently against mine, is unlike any I have experienced. There is a whole new emotion, no, that does not seem right, something more than just emotion; something deeper, older, wiser, a connection so tangible and so solid, it latches onto my soul, my heart. It goes deep. Although the circumstances may have dictated a direct correlation between the arousal and this kiss, the kiss itself was not meant to be arousing. It was meant to bridge the last spaces between his ageless soul and mine.

Somewhere in the depths of my mind, as my lips are accepting of his, my thoughts form words, coherent thoughts that press into the foundations of my mind.

_I give myself to you. From this day forward, you will not walk alone. Let my heart be your shelter, and my arms your home. As you are my heart, as I will be forever yours._

As if these thoughts somehow reached him, a new fervor breaks his steady kiss. A strong hand grabs at my buttock, pulling my hips up, the action allowing his member to fall into perfect alignment with my soaking and swollen entrance. His eyes focus on mine, as if asking one final time.

Yes. Please yes.

Slowly, carefully, he presses in. Little by little, thrust by thrust, he goes deeper. I am so tight; I feel every pulse, every shudder, every breath either of us take. It takes time, his lips soon return to mine; each thrust threatens a moan from us both. How many would hear us in the Chantry garden, as we succumb to the throes of passion? With one gentle push, he fills me entirely, and the moan that escapes him sends electric shivers through my torso, hardening my nipples against his chest. Here too, the magic pulses into me, deep, with each thrust, my senses are heightened; I feel everything he feels, in addition to my own sensation. Each pleasurable moment doubled.

I let him set the pace; I do not let my hips grind against his will. I tilt myself, giving him further room to fill. He lowers me to the bed, one hand still holding onto the meat of my butt, leaning on the other forearm. Steadily, he pulls away, and back in, steady, savoring, remembering. His eyes remain closed, sweat glistens on his face, and I feel it drip down his back. “You…are…” and a groan, he throbs, hilted. He stops himself again.

His head falls to my neck, inhaling my hair on the pillow. My senses are aware enough to kiss the lowest part of his ear, where the lobe meets the head, and down, with each thrust. A moan escapes me, I feel my climax nearing, even at this slow pace. I do not want it to end. Not yet. One kiss, as he hilts, then he draws back, exhaling shakily. With each grinding fill, I tighten around him, and he moves ever so slightly faster.

So close. My love…

My lips grace a particularly sensitive spot on his neck, and he reacts; forcing himself quickly back into me, as if this was some trigger to the wolf that is being told to wait. But I am so close. I need my release, I need to feel his seed spill from me…he draws out, and back in. As I feel him against me, his breath ever more haggard against my shoulder, his lips whispering sweet nothings, I bare my teeth, and bite. I can be as much wolf in heat as he is wolf in hunt.

The sound Solas made was pure and unadulterated sexual need; something akin to a growl and a moan. His head turns, and he bites into my collar, sucking, bruising; his thrusts become quick, solid, losing the gentle rhythm he began with.

I whimper beneath him. So close, so tight, it builds, so tense, like every ounce of my body waits for one final thrust. So close!

His grunts rumble in my ear, and I feel him harden. I feel him shudder, his abs tighten with the building of his orgasm close at hand. Just a little more, I am so close.

“My love…” he whispers, and I am undone. I am blinded by the orgasm that wracks me, and I scream until he buries my head in his shoulder to muffle the sound. Instantly, he groans into my neck, and he spills into me, thrusting hard, overflowing my sex with his seed. Magical energy explodes from us both with the release, knocking over objects from the nearby bedside table and shaking the room. Every nerve is alive, sparking, wild, reminding me how alive I was right then.

 My dream was nowhere near what this feels like. Saying it felt good was not even an option; no words in Elvhen or common could describe what I felt in those moments.

As the pulses slow, the intensity easing, my head falls to the pillow, my eyes barely cracked open. Solas’s breathing deepens, calms and he lifts his head, softly placing one kiss on my neck where I can feel a bruise forming.  A careful palm brushes away the hairs that are plastered to my sweat stained face, and he looks on me with such awe, that my eyes tear up.

He eases himself from me, and letting my legs lie flat. He rolls to his back and pulling me close. His eyes close in the blissful comfort of our afterglow. I rest my head on his chest, and listen to his heartbeat slow to a normal rhythm.

_I give myself to you…_

The thought echoes like an incantation in my mind, bouncing from thought to thought, dotting my absent mind-wanderings.

_…I am forever yours_

He begins to slowly run his fingers through my hair, lost in his own thoughts.

Maybe…it was an incantation. It felt like magic. I look at my hand resting on Solas’s bare stomach. Small arcs of magic flicker over my skin, but they are distinctly mine. Had I had the same effect on Solas, as he had on me? Did I pour my own magic into him, made him feel the same?

I yawn, and his hand drops to embrace me. He mutters quietly, almost in a whisper, in beautiful Elvhen, as he fades to sleep, firmly holding me.

_“You are my heart… I never…alone…”_

~*~

“Saeris, my lovely, where have you been?” Dorian calls from his seat as I crest the stairs to the library. “I have heard such curious rumors about noises coming from your tower this morning.”

“Solas returned, he fell ill when he came to chastise me about going to the Emerald Graves ruin without him.” I say, not looking at him. I hope the collar of my dress does not slip down. Just keep it buttoned, and hopefully no one will notice.

“Fell ill, hmmm?” he hops up, dropping his book in the chair, and sweeping up to me with obscene grace and flamboyancy. “I suppose even his stubborn baldness benefits from good old fashioned sexual healing—“

I swat him and drop my books at the desk. “Dorian, by all that is holy, keep your voice down!” I scowl, dropping into my seat. “I swear, if you weren’t so cute, I would beat you to a pulp.”

He laughs, “See! I knew it! Bull owes me…” he sings some giddy tune as he descends the stairs, greeting Solas with such unnatural cheeriness, that I again threaten him with bodily harm. Solas looks up from his desk, putting the book he had open on the desk with a sigh. I shrug and turn to my work.

By supper I have managed to make up most of my work for the day, with little distraction. “Solas, would you like to go to the tavern for supper?” I ask, coming down the staircase. He looks up from the stone slab he had been focused on.

“I am sorry, vhenan. I am needed here for the evening.” He smiles, stands and places a kiss on my brow. “Perhaps we could meet tonight; I wish to know what you found in the Emerald Graves.”

I nod, and head to the door. “I am sorry about Dorian.”

“It is alright, vhenan. He cares deeply for you, and I can respect his enthusiasm.” He answers without looking up. “Enjoy your evening, my heart.”

I make my way to the tavern, thinking of little in particular. Until the door opens.

“You should SEE her, positively GLOWING.” Dorian is saying, sipping his expensive wine with Iron Bull and Blackwall.

“You are entirely too excited about this, Dorian.” Blackwall sighs, taking a drink. He notices me in the door as his mug hits the table. “Speaking of your lady of the hour,”

“Really, boys? Gossiping like fishwives now?” I call from the bar. I order whatever dinner is and a small ale. They continue their mutterings, and I hear the passing of coin, in time to see Blackwall also handing over silvers. “Blackwall? You are in on this too?”

“Sorry Saeris. If it means anything, Varric and Sera were in on it too.” Blackwall laughs, and finishes his ale as I sit beside Bull.

“Damn, yeah, you won, kadan. You don’t need any special magic to figure that one out.” Bull laughs, patting me roughly on the back. “Glad you got that tension worked out, kid. Isn’t good for you. But the elf, huh? Didn’t count him as much of a biter—“

That earns him a swat, which hurts me more than him, and everyone laughs. “Oh, a biter!” Dorian cheers, hopping to his feet, obviously a bit intoxicated, and circling me. He peeks down my collar, and I let out an exasperated sigh “My, my. The princes has a bit of a love bite, indeed.”

Who knew my sex life would be the topic of such entertainment for these people.


	21. Chapter 21

I hate the Storm Coast.

My clothes are already soaked through. I’ve been out of my tent for five minutes. I am pretty sure I was already wet before I woke up.

I hate the Storm Coast.

“Our contact with the Qun should be here soon.” Bull tells Maxwell as we wait in the clearing overlooking the coastline. Maxwell hasn’t spoken to me much. He heard about my mission to the ruins, both from Leliana, and eventually Blackwall himself.

He may even know about Solas and me.

“Let’s hope he hurries, I see movement.” Maxwell notes, watching a small row boat leave the cave mouth, loaded with covered boxes, heading toward the cargo ship waiting in deeper waters.

The elf appears, and I keep my focus on the shore, rather than their conversation. I have heard it before, and Gatt is no different than I remember. As Iron Bull briefs his Chargers, Maxwell stands beside me, arms crossed, but silent.

“This won’t end well, Maxwell.” I whisper. “Trust me when I say that I cannot change what is about to happen.”

He nods. “As long as everyone is safe, that is what matters.”

“Maxwell, I am sorry,” I say, looking at him. As my words sink in, his face sinks into that of worry. “I will not go back to the ruin until it is safe. I just want to help you before-“

“Boss, we’re ready.” Bull calls.

“Later, we will talk.” Maxwell says, patting my shoulder and jogging up to the Chargers for one last warning. I take up my new staff and head over to my companions.

Cassandra, Varric, and I wait, huddled beneath a tree that offers some small amount of shelter from the constant, body-temperature rain that perpetually peppers us. Varric is more miserable looking than I am.

It did not escape my notice that Solas was left behind, and I was brought instead, as a backup healer. Varric also noted this, as he had expected to do work at Skyhold this week. Something about a new book for Cassandra.

As we head to the first camp, I am tempted to tell him there is an ambush, and he must save the Chargers. I really do not doubt he will let them die, as he has no love for the Qun. Surely, he will make the right choice.

As long as his mind is not too muddled with other worries.

These skirmishes are not even worth calling a ‘battle’. We clear out two small camps, and light the signal fire within the hour. I only need to shield Varric once; otherwise, I am purely on the offensive. My eyes stay trained on the coast. Any moment now, the Venetori mages will appear. Any moment Bull will have to choose.

The Dreadnaught comes into view from around the bend. It fires only a handful of shots at the smuggler’s ship, and the wooden vessel shatters in the storm, sinking with wood creaking and breaking, and the distant muffled cries of the crew.

There are 12 mages on the coast. It seemed like so much fewer in the memory. They walk steadily toward the camp. Please, Krem, stay away from the edge!

“Bull—“ I start to say.

“Pull them back. Full retreat!” Maxwell interrupts. “Get them out of there!”

“Then you sacrifice the Dreadnaught. You will be declaring yourself  Tal-vashoth,” Gatt says calmly. I never liked you Gatt.

“But they are my men.” Bull tells the elf. With a heavy sigh, he lifts the horn, and it echoes off the wet stones. The Chargers retreat, disappearing into the sparse woods behind the second camp.

But I know Bull is angry, even without looking at him. It is so tangible I can almost taste it in the salty sea air. “It is done.”

“I am sorry, Bull.” Maxwell sighs, and I feel him looking toward me. I stand at the cliff edge. I could destroy the entire group of Venetori. I have that power. But should the Qun know of me? I would easily be an assassination target, or captured, and broken, or worse, made to work for them. No freedoms, no rights, just a single job for the rest of my life. However long they allow that to be.

“It won’t be long now.” The Iron Bull sighs, looking toward the massive Qunari war ship.

“But won’t it just sink?” Maxwell asks.

“They don’t just sink,” I whisper, and turn my back to the sound of casting from the group below. I walk past the Inquisitor, Iron Bull, and Gatt. “I am sorry, Bull.” I choke as the sound of exploding Gatlock and the tearing of the metal ship blanket out all other sounds.

I walk steadily to camp, even passing the rest of the Chargers on the way. Varric follows me, and I toss my things onto a lump of grass, in hopes that it will end up less muddy this way, before sitting defeated on a log.

I couldn’t save the crew on that ship. I know that. I can’t stand to look Bull in the eye now; he knows I knew what would happen. He knows I could have said something. I can’t have everyone on my side, I suppose.

“Hey, kid.” Varric sits beside me, balancing Bianca in his lap. “You knew, didn’t you.” I nod. “And you didn’t warn anyone.” I nod. “Damn.  It’s still weird, kid. But there must be some reason; you have tried too hard to save people before.” I nod again, and look at him.

“If I stopped it, or warned anyone, we would have to kill Bull later.” I manage to say quietly, before the Inquisitor returns with the Chargers.

“Damn kid. This is harder than I thought.” He rubs his neck in frustration, and looks up to visually greet the returning warriors. “It is ok, kid. It will work out.”

I nod, and the dwarf calls Maxwell aside. Varric winks once at me, and I know he has my back in this. The two of them disappear over the hill, and the Chargers gather for a post-mission debrief. I watch the group; they are like family. How could I let them fall? Bull acts normal, his back to me the entire time. I will have to face him eventually.

By the time Maxwell and Varric return, there is a roaring bonfire in the center of camp, most of the Chargers are drunk, laughing and spatting dirty jokes back and forth. Iron Bull tries to act normally, drinking and playing along with the group, but his eyes say differently. Krem notices, and at one point, his eyes search me, asking if I know. I’ll have to explain it eventually.

“Varric explained everything to me.” Maxwell sighs, sitting beside me on the soggy log. “He would have…really?”

I nod. “Two years after we defeat Corypheus, yes. The Qun infiltrate most of the continent, and…well, we will encounter them still, but now, you won’t be the one to strike our friend down.”

He sighs, and flexes the marked hand. The green magic flares and sputters, and Maxwell winces. “It isn’t easy, is it?”

“No. It is not.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so cold to you, Saeris. I believe in you, and I hope you will remain at my side. As my friend.” Maxwell smiles weakly. “You are a good woman, and Solas is lucky to have you. I will not bother you further.” He stands, cheering with the group, and I turn away, entering my small tent in silence. I have a few hours of sleep ahead of me.

I wake before dawn. The camp is still, except for a single Inquisition scout on watch. I nod, and leave the safety of the firelight.

Angry, frustrated, boiling, burning, hatred. Why do I have to be the one to decide? What right to they have to destroy millions of lives? Why do I have to be the one to fix their mistakes?

The first Venetori look out burns to ash in moments; my anger flares to new heights when the alarm sounds deep in the cave, echoing through the noisy bay. Every frustration, every ounce of misery and exhaustion melt into one fiery cascade of magic. My staff, shiny and new, ignites to my will; I bash in the skull of one archer, his hair catching fire as he slumps to the ground. Tears are streaming down my face, and somewhere among the cries of fear, war calls, and the torrents of wind and rain, my own voice is lost, screaming in utter and total fury.

I charge in, my hands already aflame with the next spell, a group of them surround a dark figure beyond the firelight. With a burning scram, I jump, the head of my staff baring down, crushing the skull—helmet and all—of one Venitori, my magic spreading to a man on either side. Iron Bull is at the center, swinging with deadly, thundering force. The earth shakes beneath each heavy swing, as the massive hammer he wields lands on the ground, shattering the ground like an earthquake.

My eyes see red.

The cave where the smugglers had been hiding still glows with the distinct red of corrupted lyrium. A sword barely misses my head, and instinctively my staff swings into his gut, as a fireball consumes him. Another sword swing, and my staff fires in consecutive missiles at every damned Venetori. One manages to grapple me, his armored arms wrapping around my shoulders, effectively making my arms useless. He bear-hugs me, lifting my feet well off the ground.

I am suddenly thrown from the ground, as the Venetori soldier is crushed in one blow. I feel shards of bone imbedded in my arms, and the squishy, slime of blood and innards dripping off my braided hair.

Bull nods, and I charge toward the cave, building, gathering, drawing the fade in massive detonation of my force, focusing about ten yards into the cave. I will seal it, and all of those bloody murderers inside will die beneath me.

Fade debris gathers, with orbs of magic—fire, ice, electricity, and my own white energy—coating, circling, stronger than any gatlock, building into a force strong enough I drop my staff to steady it with my both hands.

Tonight, I stop this.

With all my strength, I push the mass through the air, forcing my will to use my anger, my spite, my hatred, to take down the operation in one spell. It explodes in brilliant light, and the entire coast shudders as stone and debris crumbles from the cliff. Two escape, and I am ready with fire and force. They fall, and are crushed by the landslide, the cave fills, collapsing in on itself, the cliff crumbles down, crashing into the ocean.

As the smoke clears, and the blade of my staff silences the last gurgling cries from the mages at my feet, I turn back, panting, covered in the gore of my enemies. Iron bull stands, his arms folded in front of him, his face set in a stern, stone cold frown. I don’t say anything. He knows. He sighs, and waves me over. I prep a healing spell, and when I reach him, mend a relatively minor wound to his sword arm. He pats my shoulder, like he would one of his men, and nods toward the path to camp.

I think we will be ok.

~*~

The air is feeling colder now, thinner; it must be nearing autumn.

The wind blows, whipping my hair about my head as I stand on Skyhold’s battlements. The afternoon sun does little to warm the sting of the freezing air, and I bundle my cloak ever tighter against my shoulders.

How much longer?

A patrol, two guards, barely old enough to wield blades pass me, talking about…some serving girl I suppose. The boys are young, inexperienced, immature…

They will probably be with us when we go to the Arbor Wilds. So many will fall there; and for what? A mirror, and finding out Corypheus is near immortal? How could I get close enough to warn the ancients of this impending attack? Or, do they already know, and fight even now, in the wilds around the temple, defending the trail and the outer perimeter of the sacred grounds? Perhaps Abelas should destroy the well and the Eluvian.

“Vhenan, I was worried,” Solas says, coming to my side, wrapping me in a gentle embrace before clasping his hands behind his back and staring in the same direction. “I thought we had agreed to meet at midday. The Inquisitor managed to find the amulet for Cole, and I thought you would be interested in seeing it before I enchanted it.”

Oh, right. I had promised to study with him, but I do not remember anything about Cole’s amulet being located. “I am sorry, Solas. I was lost in my own thoughts for a bit. I needed time to sort them.”

Yes, sort out how I was going to tackle this next part. I am sure, with little help, I could wipe out the entire Red Templar army; if I could master my own magic. But should I warn the sentinels…or to let so many pure ancient lives be lost?

“I see. Is it something I could, perhaps assist you with?”

I look at him, and his sincerity is clear. He does not lie.

Then again, he is Fen’Harel; lying is his super-power.

“I have it on good authority that Corypheus is attempting to locate a temple in the Arbor Wilds,” I say. How can I excuse the knowledge of intelligent life there? There have been no sightings, no inclination of sentient life in the wilds for ages. The nearest natives believed the forests to be cursed, that everyone who enters, never leaves.

“Yes, I have heard as much.” Solas continues looking forward.

“It just occurs to me, the local legends all say that the forest is cursed. We both know that such stories of people “disappearing “ in the wild lands of Thedas tend to be less magic, and more might.” I sigh, leaning on the outer wall. “I fear there are people there, probably some line of elves. They have probably been holed up there for generations, and killing off any who stray too close.” My hands shiver, and I try to cover them with the wrists of my tunic. “I wish I could find them, even if it was in the Fade; if nothing else, to war them, if they were yet unaware of Corypheus’s army.”

He nods, and takes my hands in his. I stand facing him, and he simply holds them, his body heat radiating into me. “It is not possible to reach them from here; and I fear that it would be too unsafe to attempt to contact any of them in the Fade by approaching the Wilds.” He says.

“I know. I just hate to think that so many of them will perish. They must have such history! A group of people, totally untouched by shemlen influence…” I sigh, with a smile. “I suppose it does not matter now. I cannot fret over what I cannot help.”

But maybe I can.

I have the key. I had visited Mythal after the mess with Iron Bull, and she gave me a solid map and this so called ‘Key of the Crossroads’. Well, it is actually a small gemstone, which I had crafted into a ring. I wear it constantly now. It looks like moonstone, and with it, I can open most Eluvians. Maybe I can go there in person? Yes, tonight I will try after everyone has fallen to sleep…

“Yet you still morn their deaths, without knowing them.” Solas kisses my forehead.

“Lives matter, Solas. They have done nothing to deserve the torment of battle,” I say, my eyes closed as his lips linger on my hairline.

He guides me from the battlements, my hand securely embraced in his. “The relic is an ancient design, originally created by our kin before the arrival of Man,” Solas informs me in a calm, instructive tone. “They are fascinating objects. It happened to arrive while you were assisting the Inquisitor.”

“Cole still worries about being bound?” I ask. Of course I know that Corypheus can still use him if he does not wear the amulet.

“He does. Although he means to continue his work here as a physical being, he has no inclination to become fully human. His fears are justified. He had come to the Inquisitor and me asking to be bound by blood magic to someone here.”

“You refused, of course. As far as I know, you do not practice blood magic.” I answer.

“That is correct. However this amulet will do just as well, provided it is working correctly.” We walk steadily to the rotunda, ignoring most of the prying eyes of nobles that loiter in the main hall. “Here, the style is distinctly Ravaini in nature, but the core of it is Elvhen.” He hands me the amulet, a palm sized flat broach-looking piece, with a hard-edged, geometric shaped rune on the front. I can feel the faint vibration of previous magic within the piece. I turn it over, feeling the not quite cold metal in my fingers, inspecting it thoroughly. For show, mostly.

“It is intriguing, that is certain.” I say, handing it back to him. “When will you be giving it to him?”

“Now, actually,” Maxwell says from the door. Cole follows him, silently, and I wonder if he is trying to reach into my thoughts to see if it will work. It will, my friend, but first…

“This should be easy enough, put it on, I charge it with magic, and he should be protected.” Solas is saying as he pins the broach to Cole’s tattered shirt. It almost seems to melt into the fabric, rather than being attached to it.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask Cole, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. I never noticed just how tall the boy-spirit was. He stares down with eyes that look like a frightened animal.

“Yes. Just bind away the parts of me that they will knot together to make me follow.” He says, quivering a little in his tattered shirt. I nod to Solas, and step back.

I could have probably done this bit, Maxwell. Then again, Solas would grow suspicious, as would many others. Maybe he thinks these things through more thoroughly than I have given him credit for.

Solas’s eyes close as he focuses a steady, sure, stream of magic into the amulet. I braced myself for the burst that indicates the procedure fails.

With a sudden snap, and Cole barking in surprise as he is jolted back, the enchantment fails. I feel Maxwell jump from the sudden noise echoing in the rotunda, and Solas—the ever patient god—hardly reacts at all.

“What are you doing to the poor kid?” Varric says from the door.

“Attempting to prevent Cole from being bound like the demons at Adamant.” I explain, patting Cole on the shoulder. It is ok, my friend. We will make it work, I have seen it. I know.

“Maybe it won’t work because he isn’t a demon.” Varic chides, standing beside Solas.

“Guys, he is a spirit. That is simple.” I sigh, interrupting Maxwell before he can speak. “Even if he appears as he does, he is, at the root of it all, a spirit. And much like the demons at Adamant, and the Grey Wardens the world over, he needs to be protected or fall under his control.”

“Quite so.” Solas says. There is a hint of skepticism in his voice, but it is almost buried completely behind his façade. “Something is interfering with the enchantment.”

Cole, I know you read this. Be calm, act like I don’t know.

“Cole, focus on the amulet; tell me what you feel,” Solas says, coming to my side as the spirit walks away toward the door.

He plays the part beautifully. Muttering his usual borderline-gibberish and pointing quite accurately toward Redcliff.

“Alright kid, get with Cullen and pinpoint where the problem is.” Varric speaks up.

“Will you come with me? All of you?” He asks, looking at everyone else but me.

“Of course.” Maxwell answers immediately.

“Yeah, sure kid.” Varric says.

Cole hurries off, and I can already hear the contempt for Varric growing off Solas voice as I excuse myself. “We will leave tomorrow, be ready.” I hear Maxwell say before he jogs to catch up to me.

“Will you come meet me, I need to speak to you.” He says as I head to the garden door. “Please, it is important.” I nod, and he seems a little relieved.  “Thank you. After supper, I’ll leave my quarters open.”

He wants me to meet him in his room. Alone. Please be business. Please…

“Vhenan?”

My eyes dart up to Solas, who is slowly approaching me. “Yes?”

“You looked concerned,” He takes my hand and opens the garden door. “Come, there is something else I wanted to discuss.”

He leads me to my chambers, stopping briefly at his own to get a small package bundled in dusty colored fabric. Once inside, I can smell the fresh scent of lavender from the newly cleaned bed sheets. I head to my desk and retrieve a small bottle of sweet liquor that Dorian had ordered for me, and two small glasses. I pour a small amount into each and carefully hand him the crystal.

“Thank you, my heart.” He says, taking it and sipping it. Even in his rustic attire, my mind wanders, wondering what glory he must have been, to move with such grace after all these years. “Ah, yes. This.” He places his glass down, and carefully unwraps the fabric from the small box.

He hands it to me, and sits, watching as I open it wish slightly trembling fingers. The box is delicately carved rose wood, in Elvhen style filigree, and filled with a deep blue silken fabric, hiding whatever lies within from prying eyes. Along the winding vines and leaves carved in the wood are thin lines of gold and if I tilt it just so, I see the sparkle of magic imprinted in a protective rune, as if to lock it shut. As my fingers go to lift the lid, a sudden crash of glass interrupts my focus.

A round ceramic bottle lands on the carpet, immediately the room fills with toxic smoke. I hear feet landing on the stone floor. Solas struggles, coughing, his magic restrained, until one familiar spell sends me flying. Mind blast.

My back makes direct contact with the bookshelves filled with the salvaged tomes from the ruins. The box is jolted from my grasp. The air is so thick, my lungs burn!

“Saeris! Saeris hold on! Do you hear me!?” Solas cries from somewhere in the smoky room. He growls, and spells flare to life around him; I can just see the flashes of light as the Fade energy is released from him.

It is getting hard to breathe. I raise a shield about myself in time to feel hands grabbing at me. Human, elven, dwarven, leather gloves, I push and swing wildly. “SOLAS!” I scream finally. I hear muffled cries and the sound of a club on flesh. No.

“SOLAS! Please, vhenan!” I scream, tears rushing down my cheeks. I hear the rumble of the door, people outside, trying to get in. Solas does not answer. I try to stand, to get to one of the doors to the balcony, for air. It is so hard to breathe, my vision is filling with dark spots.

I find the door, and I feel the broken glass slice open my palm as I struggle to find the latch. In one painful moment, I hear the swing of a solid club right over my head, and the world goes black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Updates this month will be a bit sporadic. February is a difficult month for me, so I may only get a chapter or two up. Thank you all for the continued support, and have a wonderful weekend!


	22. Chapter 22

Blackness. Head pounding, arms…no good. My skin is on fire, burning away my mana…Templars?

Solas.

Where is Solas?!

“Still her, the master wants her alive and unspoiled,” a gruff voice demands nearby.

Jarring, bouncing, hard surface beneath me. Head…hurts.

I manage to open my eyes. Sunlight pierces through the fabric that blindfolds me. My arms are lashed behind my back. Beneath the cloth, one eye is can just barely see, and I see heavy armored boots, and the flicker of red light on the wooden floorboards of what I assume is a wagon.

Bump. My head feels full of nails and noise. I hear horses and the crunch of gravel and dirt beneath hooves and wagon wheels; I hear the mumbled deranged utterances of men and women around me.

Faint, I feel it. It tugs like a fish hook in my thoughts; singing, bright, red, beautiful….

No!

“Knock her out; she’s struggling again.”

Black.

But the Fade does not answer my sleep, nor do the spirits guide me to rest to ease my suffering. It is just black, throbbing, sharp pain, and the bruising pain of my hip digging into the wood floorboards.

Hours roll by, lost in the fogginess of my damaged brain. I force myself to focus on anything that keeps the sound of the red lyruim from my mind. But I can feel it. It hurts, the sweet, sad music that corrupted so many, that destroyed an ancient order of would be protectors. It calls to me, every moment, seeping from their bodies, from their armor, where it grows cancerous and glorious.

No!

Focus, feel the pain, dig your nails into the palm of your hand, anything to bring you back!

My eyes open, it is dark behind the blindfold. My stomach churns, between the jolting of the cart and the lack of food, I am sick, but I have nothing to expel from my queasy stomach.

Solas…

~*~

When next my eyes open, I am blinded. I remember waking up; my head pounding like a thousand hangovers at once, to the stench of blood and burning flesh, the cries of soldiers, and the crunch of bone. But I couldn’t open my eyes. Now, I am free of my blindfold, and the morning sun burns bright beneath the jungle-like canopy. The stench of the Red Templars is almost masked by the overwhelming scent of exotic flowers and leaves, the likes of which I had not seen since…

Since the game.

Everything is painted in brilliant shades of green, contrasted with shimmering waters and dotted with bright red, purple and yellow flowers. Ahead I see the last fleeing songbirds, flocking from the impending battle, littering the sky with specks of brilliant blue and yellow.

I am—no, we are in the Arbor Wilds. And that means…

“Well, when they said they got ye’, I wasn’t expectin’ such a looka,”

I know that voice. Samson.

Sure as stone, the armored man approaches, pale, cheeks sunken in, eyes encircled in dark bruise colored marks, unshaven, and unwashed. His armor is still splattered with dried blood and crusted entrails, and his weapon still attached to his back, ready for a fight. “Such a small thing you are. You boys sure this is the right one?”

Grunts, noises that could have once been affirmations, grumbles from the troops answer.

A group of leather clad dwarves march by. Carta? They are here too? Surely they were the ones to make the smoke bombs. But how did they get into Skyhold?

Samson kneels down, lifting my chin with an armored hand. “Well, if the master says so, then it must be. Such fire in this one, you can see it.”

“Get your hands off me,” I growl, and spit in his face. He laughs. Wiping on a corner of his torn cloak, before backhanding me, gauntlet and all.

“You’ll learn your place,” He snarls. Two more men surround me, one grabs my head, the other my shoulders to hold me still. They force my mouth open, and Samson pours water in my face. “Master needs you alive.”

I fight, I kick, but my legs are bound. My wiggling and writhing does little. The water is just that, and when his pitcher is empty, the men release me. My dress is soaked, what remains of it anyway. I shiver slightly and glare at the maniac that brought me here. “You will be sorry Samson.”

“Oh? Is that a threat?” He leans in again. “I think you’ll find your little future telling tricks won’t help you now, missy.” Samson laughs as he stands, and barks orders for a half dozen Templars to stand watch, dampening my connection to the Fade. He knows I could break out if I could just get the strength…

That day, I am forced to sit in near solitude, surrounded by towering red lyrium Templars until dark. I was permitted only to stand as needed to shift a chamber-pot beneath me to relieve my bowels, otherwise, bound securely and kept under constant dampening.

My skin felt hot, like a burn fading, but perhaps it was more that I had grown accustomed to the sensation. More troublesome is that I can still ‘hear’ the lyrium. It isn’t maddening, not yet, but there, always humming, like a song stuck in your head. It goes against everything that made me, and that hurts. Physically hurts.

I try to behave as best I could, simply to prevent these abominations from getting too close. I keep quiet, listening, learning what I could from this camp. They do sleep, they do eat, they breathe and talk, for a while at least, until the lyrium makes them mad, and they are sent off to just kill stuff. I am given some form of bread and water at night, after the rest have eaten, and, although I am reluctant to eat it at first, I see one of the Carta members eating it, so I see little choice.

It is these hours of relative peace that I finally collect my thoughts. I hope Solas was not injured. I hope Maxwell saved him, even if he is jealous. Hopefully, a scout or soldier was able to follow, to get word back to the Council.

I will need to be saved again. This is growing old. How can a force that is supposed to be on par with gods of Elvhen legend be captured like this?

Mythal was, and later killed.

Well…shit.

Sleep is restless, and I am unable to reach to the Fade. A side benefit of the Templar training, I suppose. Even the slightest stretch of my aura, the smallest reach of my magic into the soil leaves me near exhaustion. Thus my days and nights continue. By the end of the tenth day, I have learned that masses of armies approach, bearing the banner of the Inquisition, and Orlais. I have seen nothing of my captor up to that point, but I know that will soon change.

The sun has barely risen on the eleventh day when I am pulled abruptly upright from my quasi-slumber. I am fashioned with new bindings on my wrists, my arms now secured in front of me for balance. A rope is attached to each ankle, and a Templar each holds those leashes. Samson simply laughs as I am shoved at him, crashing face first into his somewhat cleaner chest plate with a nauseating thud. He fits a gag—a dirty rag—into my mouth, tying it with a painful tug behind my head.  

“It’s our lucky day. We finally get our dues.” And with that, he grabs the back of my neck with a numbing pinch and I am incapacitated.

~*~

I hear the voices, strong, melodic. I understand them. Elvhen.

They demand we leave, we have no right here. They fall in a skirmish that encircles me, until one stands. The ancient threatens, and I feel the pull of magic as he sets the trap. I am dropped to the ground, but I barely feel it.

My eyes open in time for Corypheus to walk into the barrier, and melt, breaking the neck of the sentinel as he crumbles into a pile of tattered fabric and dust. Samson barks more orders, and troops start forward. I am pulled to my feet, shoved forward, and walk right down the walkway to the front gates.

Red Templars on both sides cut down all of the ancient elves that run to protect their charge. I am unable to assist the ancient blood that pools in sticky warm puddles around my bare feet. Their eyes stare up, begging me to help, and I weep as I am dragged along behind Samson to the far end of the entry garden.

I am too distracted at first to notice the sheer magnificence of this place. Even overgrown now, the magic lingers, and I am in awe. That is until I am yanked from my feet, landing in a pool that was once a fountain. Templars move up, along with the Carta dwarves, as they arrange a stack of barrels. I duck and cover my head as they explode, a deep tunnel exposing the depths of the temple within.

All of these men and women…dead. I should have warned them earlier. I should have warned Abelas to destroy the well long ago. These sentinels did not deserve this death. I am sorry, my lost kin. I should have been more.

Dragged into the depths of darkness, I attempt to stall. With what strength I could, I tug and pull, throw myself at my captors. It earns me a solid pommel to my skull, and I see stars. I try to scream into the darkness, but all I hear is the muffled echoes of my cries. I cannot see; it is too dark, the only lights are from the blazing fires of the lyrium charges the dwarves set to propel us forward through the solid stone. Finally I see the glitter of sunlight and my heart sinks.

Before us stand the remnants of the courtyard surrounding the Well of Sorrows. From my vantage point, I could just make out the top of the Eluvian posted guard on the far end of the risen platform.

As I see the light of day, I am immediately thrown from my captors, as a large war-hammer wielding sentinel cleaves through them. I land with a crunch in a bush against a deteriorating wall. My head swims, but the light! The first tendrils of magic begin to creep into my body. It hurts.

Before I have enough time to grasp those fragments of Fade, Samson has me in his grasp and pulling me toward the stairs. Maxwell, please hurry!

My head pulses like it is being shoved deeper and deeper beneath the water. I need healing, my head…my head…

I am dragged struggling weakly toward the stairs, until I am abruptly discarded, thrown to the side like trash as I hear the familiar sound of leather bottomed boots on the gravel from the double doors that lead from within. My vision is hazy, but I can just make out Maxwell and Morrigan bursting through the door and down the stairs. I am safe for now, I hope.

“Stop right there Samson.”

It’s Maxwell, I can barely make it out over the rush of blood in my skull. My eyes close, and my head rolls back against the stone. Just a moment of sleep, that’s all. I am so tired. My head…my head…

“She is here, I can feel her aura, it is weak, but—“

“Solas, calm down, we will find her,” Maxwell says.

“We must hurry! They will be here any moment!” Morrigan adds. She hungers for the Well. I hope you drink it.

Their voices are distant, echoing just a little off of the old stone, down to my ears beneath the brush and fallen Templars.

“I am sorry, Child of Mythal,” Abelas whispers into my ear. I feel a foreign surge of magic, it eases the stuffiness in my skull, but I cannot open my eyes. “I should have known you were here. Be strong, your duty yet needs to be fulfilled. I will see you on the other side, kin.” He places something hard, wrapped in some sort of fabric, in my palm, and closes my fingers over it tightly. “Do not let this go, let no one see.”

I am carried, slowly up the stairs. My hand clutches something foreign. “I believe this is your companion.” Abelas’s voice says over me. “I have assisted her as best I can, but I fear she was exposed to those men too long. I am no healer.”

Solas’s magic fills me in a heartbeat. “Ir abelas, I was unable to reach her quicker.” The sentinel hands me over to another armored grasp. Maxwell; I can smell the armor oil and his sandalwood soap beneath his sweat and the stench of death.

“Thank you, Abelas. I am in your debt.” The Inquisitor says. “Now hurry, she is alive, I feel her breathe. Morrigan, if you are going to do this—“

I hear the water part before he finishes the sentence. The Veil bends, thin as it is here, and the sudden flash of energy and splash of the entire pool of water makes me cringe. Then I hear her mutter in Elvhen. “Morrigan?” Maxwell asks tentatively.

“Move…” I choke, I felt him approach, in the doorway. “Now.”

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra screams. I hear the bellow of Corypheus as he sees his prize from the balcony across the courtyard. The mirror springs to life, and everyone jumps through, landing with a graceless thud on the other side.

I feel the Crossroads shutter under our presence. So much magic between Solas, Morrigan, and myself. It wants it back. It is not violent, just yearning, jealous, and sick. It feels like the old man who wishes to wield a sword in glorious battle once more, even though he can barely stand.

“We must hurry, Saeris is in serious condition.” Solas says, and the pace quickens. Maybe it was the jolting of his jog, perhaps it was the relief of being saved…again. Regardless, I was asleep, still clutching the object in my hand long before I felt the familiar tingle of mountain air.

~*~

“You should have told me.”

“You? What difference would it have made?”

“I am with her more often than not, Inquisitor. I could have stopped it, I would have been prepared—“

“Prepared for an ambush? My information said it wasn’t supposed to happen for weeks!”

“I am always prepared, Inquisitor. I would not have allowed her to sleep here alone had I known Corypheus was so interested in her.”

“And I was not? I was going to tell her that night!”

“What good would that have done? You should have said it then, after we finished with Cole!”

“Ugh! We’ve been over this a thousand times, Solas. I did what I could with what I was given.”

“Well, Inquisitor, it obviously was not enough.”

The door slams, and I hear a deep sigh beside my bed as the mattress depresses to my right. “I am sorry, vhenan. I did not mean to wake you.”

My head throbs, and the air is heavy with incense and herbs. I gingerly open my eyes, bracing for the bright sun, but instead found it setting behind the mountains. The fire was happily burning orange, warming a small pot of herbs in water. Solas places his palm on my forehead, and I feel his cool magic trickle in like rain water. The muscles in my face relax, and I realize I had been gripping the she sheet hard enough to make my hands white knuckled from strain. I released the sheets and my joints rejoiced.

“You are too hard on him, my heart.” I say, looking up at him. I had no way to know, no way to warn him that I would be taken. “He did what he could. It is no one’s fault.”

He nods and I lift my hand to cup the side of his face. I feel him tremble, as if holding back a sob.  He whispers “I do not understand why you are constantly pursued in this way…I am sorry, vhenan.”

No, don’t cry.

I pull his face to mine, and kiss his chapped lips. His mouth is dry, but warm, and despite my injuries, my touch sent waves of sensation through him; I could feel him tense and restrain a groan as my fingers trail down his arm, now bracing himself beside my head. His reaction send strained but welcomed flashes to the core of my stomach, as my body was still recovering from its newest trauma.

I pull back, resting my head on the pillow. He pulls my heavy braid from underneath me, and lays it carefully over my shoulder. “I should have tried harder. I could have stopped them. I was so worried when…when you weren’t in the Fade, I found no trace of you--”

“After that, you are still carrying on?” I laugh softly, and pull down the blanket a little. “Lay with me.”

He looks conflicted. I wonder if he thought…well, I wouldn’t mind, honestly. It has been some time.

“It is late, sleep here tonight.” I reiterate. “Beyond that, I have no demands of you.” He nods, and carefully removes his jaw bone necklace, before untying his foot-wraps. I watch him at first just in admiration, as his deft hands unlace the leather strappings of his legs. It isn’t until he pulls the sweater over his head, exposing the tighter undershirt beneath that my sex sparked to life. Even hurting, I still couldn’t keep away. I watched the muscles of his arms as he untied his trousers, in rapt fascination, and follow the lines of his legs as he folds the clothing and places them on the sofa in a neat pile, before removing the undershirt as well.

He is slow, methodical. He does not do anything necessarily provocative, nor does he imply he is even interested in that manner. I watch him, moving normally through the motions. I almost didn’t get to see this again.

Soon, I won’t be able to.

Wearing nothing but his flushed skin, he crawls into bed with me, keeping just a few inches from my warm, barely clothed body. “Solas,” I whisper, turning to my side. “Stop. You could not have done any more than you did. Please, my love.”

I could have lost this man. This moment, this fleeting, singular moment, could have never happened. I could have died, or he could have. No, he couldn’t die; he would have exposed himself as the god to stop it…right?

He smiles, his brows still furrowed in doubt. “I do not deserve you…” He brushes a rogue hair from my neck, his fingers languidly brushing my throat and down my collar bone. I want his heat, his love, his heart, his soul; I want all of him, and I never want to give it up.

His eyes sparkle in the firelight. He still worries; I wonder if he worries because he does not understand why I keep being taken from him? He looks so sad, as if he expected never to see me again. I want to ease his suffering; my lonely wolf already suffers so much in his dark mind.

Even though the pain intensifies when I move, I lift myself from the bed, kissing him softly. He shivers, as if still holding back the tears that risk breaking him. His arms wrap around me, and his kiss reflects such a trembling reluctance, that I lay my head down on his bicep, breaking the kiss prematurely.

Solas’s magic trickles into me, easing the pain once more, as he runs his hand over my head, and lacing through my hair. “I am sorry, my heart, that you suffer because of me,” I say, closing my eyes to his touch. “I can promise you, it will not happen again.”

His eyes search my face, looking for something I cannot discern. “Can you be certain? The actions of the mad can hardly be predicted.”

He is no more mad than you are, my love.

“I am certain. Trust me.” I smile. I have to tell him soon. I cannot hold it back. In the game, the scene in Crestwood, where he ends the relationship, comes next. Perhaps I can stop the breakup by telling him what I am? Of course I can’t tell him my entire purpose, but maybe just enough…

I focus back on him, and he has drifted to sleep. My poor wolf; I have been so cruel to you. I will make it up to you. I will give you a gift worthy of you.

The truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to a family emergency, I will not be able to post until the second week of next month, unless something changes before then. I am so sorry, but I just don't have time to work on the next chapter.  
> Much love to you all, and thank you for understanding!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long break, guys. Thanks for sticking with me!  
> Enjoy~

I began making arrangements for a small get away with Solas the following morning.

“Are you sure?” Maxwell asked me apprehensively. “You have been really adamant about letting no one know.”

“There are things I cannot tell anyone yet—and I am sorry about that—but the rest, yes. When I get back, I will tell the rest.” I am looking at a map, trying to figure out a place to go. “And…there is something that will happen with him that I am expecting to happen. I hope it doesn’t, but…”

Maxwell hugs me sideways as I stare at the word “Crestwood” on the map. “It isn’t going to be good, is it?” he asks quietly, as Leliana enters the War Room and shuffles through reports.

“No, it will not,” I whisper. “But it is meant to happen. I cannot let my own feelings get in the way of the story.”

He nods, and points to Crestwood. I haven’t told him where I needed to go, just that I needed to get away from Skyhold for a while. “There are some nice areas around Crestwood, if I remember. I remember some glens with big old statues,” Maxwell points to a location slightly east of Crestwood. The inhale I take in is shaky, and I have never been so sure that this event needs to happen.

“The fact that you pointed out the exact location…” I manage before turning from the map. “Thank you, Maxwell.”

“Of course. You have done all you can for us, it is only right that I help you sometimes too.” He smiles, sad, as if he wants to comfort me but doesn’t know how. “And you know, if you need me…”

“Thank you, but it hasn’t happened yet, so maybe…it won’t.” I sigh, inhaling and composing myself. “Enough of that, we need to figure out what Corypheus’s next move is.”

“Morrigan says we need to go here,” He points to the map. “It is some shrine, where she thinks she can summon Mythal. I have to admit, the whole “hearing voices” thing is a little creepy.”

“Wait till she meets the goddess she thinks is dead,” I smirk. “Joke’s on her.” Cullen, Josephine, and Morrigan enter, and they discuss the trip to the shrine. I almost cannot contain the giggle that threatens to erupt from my throat as she discusses the trip. I focus instead on the ominous word on the map.

Crestwood.

~*~

“Saeris!”

I jump in my seat, the book I had been studying falls to the floor with a heart-wrenching slap, and I look up at the door, where Leliana stands breathless and obviously distressed.

“What is it that has you so worked up?” I ask, bending over and picking up the book.

“It’s Morrigan. She just ran off! I’ve never seen her so worked up,” Leliana explains. “ Her son managed to activate the Eluvian, and her son went through, Morrigan went after her! Maxwell already went through, but you should help.”

I never saw this.

We are racing down the stairs before another word could be uttered. I never saw this part!

The Eluvian is still active when I enter. “I’ll be back; I have my suspicions, but just in case, post a guard.” I tell the spy-mistress. She nods and I walk through.

“We’ll find him Morrigan. He can’t have gone far.” Maxwell is saying as I step through. Somehow, the boy has managed to force the Eluvian to go not to the Crossroads, but directly to the Fade. This…is unexpected.

“The Fade is infinite, he could literally be anywhere.” Morrigan weeps, walking passed the Inquisitor and looking out into the Fade. “Whatever has happened to him ‘tis my doing. I was the one to set him on this path.”

“He’ll be alright, Morrigan,” I say, attempting to be as calm as possible. “I do not think he is in any real danger here.”

The witch is frantic, and she turns to me as the Inquisitor looks to me for help. I can tell he doesn’t like this at all. “Please, help me look Inquisitor. Just a little longer.” She pleads.

“Of course, Morrigan,” I answer first, coming up to her. “I will search as long as you need me to help.”

“Is it safe? I mean for me, you know, no magic. Or should I go get a weapon?” Maxwell whispers to me. Morrigan is already moving quickly forward.

“No, it will be fine. Between Morrigan and myself, we will be sufficient.” I answer back and jog up to meet her.

It isn’t long, passing floating water and falling stone, before I feel a familiar presence. “We are close,” I say, and Morrigan rushes forward. I should have warned her with whom she was about to come face to face with.

“Mother!” I hear the boy call happily.

Morrigan stops dead in her tracks. She looks ready to kill. I almost feel bad for her. Almost. “Mother.”

“Well, isn’t this a surprise.” Flemeth stands from where she had been kneeling before her grandson, waves of magic passing between the two of them. Surely it wasn’t that much of a surprise to her, but I suppose the old woman must play coy.

“So…is this some kind of…family reunion?” Maxwell asks, somewhat baffled. I swat him.

“Mother, daughter, grandson. It rather warms the heart, does it not?” Flemeth—no, Mythal—answers.

“Kieran is not your grandson. Let him go!” Morrigan angrily demands. She should know better than to demand anything from her mother; even if she doesn’t know her mother is also the current embodiment of an Elvhen god.

“As if I were holding him hostage. She has always been ungrateful, you see,” Mythal’s eyes flicker from her daughter, to me. The woman is trying to goad her daughter into doing something, but what?

“Morrigan, please, there must be an explanation—“ I start to say.

“Ungrateful? I know how you intended to extend your life, wicked crone.”

I looked at Maxwell, who, for once, had the right idea, and kept his mouth shut. He looked a bit panicked, and glanced at me, searching for something. I smile and just put my finger to my lips, hushing anything he might have been inclined to say.

“You will not have me, and you will not have my son!”

Then Morrigan attempts to cast some spell, using the knowledge of the Well. Her magic swarms her arms, glowing much brighter in the Fade than it would have in the waking world.

Silly witch.

“That is quite enough. You’ll endanger the boy.” Mythal says, and with a wave of her hand, cancels whatever magic her daughter was so eager to cast.

“What…have you done to me?” Morrigan asks, panting slightly.

“I have done nothing. You drank from the Well of your own volition.” Mythal is good. She barely shows any emotions, just a smug sort of…pride. I see how Morrigan would clash with her.

And the kicker…

“You…are Mythal,” Morrigan almost chokes on those words from pure shock. Maxwell’s mouth falls open, as it often does when he is surprised.

I back away, starting to walk some distance to give them room. “And you knew about it!” the woman cries after me.

“Don’t blame me.” I say, and lean against the rock, and close my eyes, waiting for this encounter to end. The sound of the four of them talking slowly is drowned out by my own thoughts.

~*~

I finish mending Cole’s shirt as the afternoon sun fades to evening. It is a good time for a drink before returning to my chambers for study.

“Yes, Sera, I get it.”

“But it’s weird, in’nit?” The elf rogue was saying. Maxwell leans in her doorway, blocking me from her view. His arms are folded in front of him, and he is obviously trying to maintain some sort of command over the conversation. “I mean, it’s hard enough to believe your arse is the Herald thingy, but a elf as some seer? That’s shite aint it?”

“No one claimed she was a seer, Sera.”

I stop short of midway down the stairs, and lean back into the shadows of the higher floor. “But she’s too…magicky. It creeps me out.”

“Sera, I’ll say this one more time. I’ll go, if you really don’t want her help, but do not insult her. She has been through a lot and saved a lot of lives.”

“A whole lot of good that did.” Sera answers. “Just do the march, yeah? It’s an easy thing for you.”

“I’ll do it, just…bah, never mind.” Maxwell turns and heads to the stairs. I watch him descend and follow quietly.

It is not hard to see that they were talking about me. Sera doesn’t like me? I thought we were friends…

The tavern seems to quiet a little as I pass through the room. It feels like every patron watches me walk by, incredulously judging me for some crime I didn’t know I had committed. What is going on? Had I not noticed people reacting like this before?

People seem to part for me as I walk to the main hall. It is as if I suddenly repel people now. No, it must be just my mind. I climb the stairs, passing beneath the balcony that Vivianne claimed months ago. Maxwell is discussing something with her; I could hear his tone echo off the warm stone. I can see Josephine busy at her desk, writing away while dictating to another scribe by warm firelight. I turn and carefully open the door to the stairwell. My feet pad softly on the stone stairs and I stop but a moment. I should really stop eavesdropping.

“I do not trust her.”

“What? You too? What in Andraste’s name is going on today…” Maxwell grumbles. “Look, Saeris has been a huge asset to our cause, and I am certain she will be able to give you better insight into this wyvern potion than I could—“

“Because she is a demon.” Vivianne interrupts. “Do you know what your association to her has done? Do you know how the nobility see you?”

“I do not care what people’s vision of me is, Vivianne.” Maxwell answers calmly. “What I care about are results, and she has put in more time and energy into this than—I daresay—you have.”

Wow. Ok Maxwell, thanks for coming to my defense, but is that necessary?

“What will this “help” cost us, Inquisitor? Even if she is just another mage helping our cause, no one is so charitable without a price.”

“That is enough, Vivianne. She has asked for nothing, and I am certain she will simply leave once the battle is won.” The Inquisitor sounds angry and heads toward the door to the gardens. “I will take a party out in two days for your wyvern heart. Pray that the Maker is kind.”

I do not linger there. The stairs pass slowly beneath me, and I make my way carefully to my room. How many people are suspicious of me? Is it wrong to keep my secret now? It is unfair of me, selfish of me, to hide from so many.

They will understand; they must understand. I was _made_ to help them. I came here for them. I came here to forget who I had been. They will understand. Right?

I am in my room staring into the fireplace as my thoughts return to my surroundings. The room is empty, and lit only by the roaring fire. I light a Veilfire torch above my desk, and sit with a heavy sigh.

I open my journal of notes, and the Eluvian map. The blue firelight catches in the stone of the ‘key’ on my finger. I remove the ring, placing it front and center, facing me. It glitters as the lights dance off the smooth surface. I never would have known that this small thing will help me.

Then my eyes catch sight of something I had almost forgotten about; a small, delicately carved wooden box, filled with blue fabric. My fingers barely touch the small gift when I hear a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I call, hiding the map beneath other books. Maxwell enters, somewhat nervously, and obviously tired. “What can I do for you, Maxwell?”

“I can think of a few things, but this is not the time for that,” He smirks at his own innuendo and sits on the sofa. “I just needed some sanity. You don’t mind if I just…stay here for a bit?”

I smile, “Of course, Maxwell. Make yourself at home. There is some drink on the table there, if you would like it.”

He stands and pours himself a glass of the alcohol. “Everyone is so tense. It is exhausting.”

“Understandably, since the final fight is nearly upon us.” I close my notes, and forget about the box. Maxwell paces in front of the window looking out over the mountains, and his hand twitches as the anchor flares angrily against his skin. I see the veins of magic stretching up his forearm.

“Does it hurt?” I ask. I pick up his hand, inspecting the flesh of his palm, watching the pulse of magic and the miniscule flinches in his fingers.

Maxwell’s breath catches in surprise, but he relaxes with a soft smile. “Only when I laugh.”

I swat his arm, not taking my eyes off the mark. Maybe…maybe I can ease it? “Maxwell, may I try…something? I don’t know what it will do, but maybe it will ease it some?” He nods, a little bit dazed—because the woman he is infatuated with is holding him I suppose—and puts his drink down.

I have him sit, facing me, his palm down over mine. “Ready? Tell me if it hurts and I will stop.”

“What if I like it?” Maxwell grins.

“Stop, I am serious.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you.” He sighs and watches my other hand as it hovers over the back of his hand. My magic comes willingly, searching, pouring into the marked arm. I feel the pull of the Anchor; the hunger of the magic is nauseating. It will consume him.

Stop, please. Give me time.

I force my energy into the same veins, building a nearly invisible wall against the spread of it. Maxwell winces as I try to draw the magic out like poison from a wound; the Anchor stays firm, but it dims. As I search the Anchor for clues, for answers to all of the questions that swim incoherently in my mind, one thought appears above the rest.

It is a direct link to the Fade; I would need to cut it off. I do not need to separate the arm from the man, but the Anchor from his hand. But how? It is hungry, wanting, growing strong off the life of this man.

I need to give it something more tantalizing than a strong mortal.

I’ll need to give it… me.

My eyes dart up to his face, and it seems more relaxed than it has in months. “Better?” I ask pouring magic to relieve the pain.

“Much. What did you do?” He asks, flexing his fingers.

“Magicky stuff.” I smile standing. “More importantly, I have an idea about the Anchor.”

“Oh?”

I stand, retrieving his glass and handing it to him. “I have been going about this all wrong. All you will need is to decide when you want to be rid of that thing.” Something in my very being knows I can do it; I can transfer the mark.

“That seems too easy,” He gets up, stretching and walking over to my desk idly.

“Well it isn’t, but it will be a once-and-done process,” I answer, pouring a glass for myself. “Once you are no longer in possession of it, you will not be able to get it back.”

“How?” He picks up something from my desk.

“I’ll take it.”

He spins around, “You’ll what?”

“I’ll transfer it to myself,” I answer matter-of-factly. “It won’t be easy, and I cannot guarantee it won’t hurt—“

“You’re mad.” Maxwell shakes his head. “It will kill you just as easy as it will me!”

“No, it won’t.” I smile. “It is meant to be attached to the owner of the orb; the owner was once a man of great power and infinite years if he were careful. The Evanuris, Fen’Harel created that object. The magic will kill mortals, this is true.”

Maxwell downs the rest of his glass. “I sense a “but” here…”

I smile. “I am not mortal.”

~*~

I rinse the last globs of wyvern blood from my robes in the knee deep water near the camp. The battle had been messy; I forgot about the dragon. Oops. Maxwell went down after the wyvern, and Iron Bull had to take over distracting it so I could pull the Inquisitor out of the water before he drowned. Dorian did well, despite being knee deep in nearly stagnant water for the duration of the battle. I suppose it gave him an excuse to get naked in the tent with Bull later.

Maxwell is propped up against a rock facing the fire, sharpening his sword in silence when I return. I hear the familiar grunts and muffled moans from the larger tent a few yards beyond the firelight. “How are you feeling?” I ask him as I sit beside him. He shifts uncomfortably and wipes the blade clean.

“Alright,” he says quietly. His left hand shakes as he sheathes the weapon and lays it beside him. I see the faint glow of green as he gloves the hand and clenches it against the flare up.

“Liar.” I say, and take his hand. He fights it at first, and I, somehow, overpower him. I didn’t realize my physical strength would be connected to the magical strength I have been acquiring. Eventually I wrestle his glove off, and force open the palm. The skin is a dark angry red around the stretching arms of glowing Anchor. “Maxwell…” I sigh and ease soothing magic into it. He flinches, his eyes closing against the pain. I can only imagine what it would feel like. Again, I draw back the magic; I show it, connect with it, and give it a taste. The light dims almost to nothing before my eyes, and I feel a strange sensation in my chest.

His arm relaxes and his eyes open. They glisten with tears in the fire and he wipes them with the back of his hand. “Thank you.” I nod, and release him. It feels strange. The Anchor’s magic, I recognize it; it is still small, but it is latched on in my chest, it feels like a hiccup that won’t come out. It doesn’t hurt; it just feels different.

“Are you ok?”

Maxwell is looking concerned, his brow furrowed together. “Solas is going to kill me.”

I can’t help but laugh. “So don’t tell him. He doesn’t need to know what I am doing.”

“That isn’t right, you know that.” My friend sighs and pats my shoulder. “Just don’t go dying on me now.”

“I won’t, I promise.” I smile. “If he does ask…”

“Then I will tell him the truth.” He pokes me, “Something “magicky” that I don’t get.”

Another lie on my behalf.

My eyes focus on a smoldering ember at the outskirts of the fire. The happy glow fades to lifeless gray as the warmth is drawn out, dying in a lump of cooling ash. “I don’t imagine it will matter much longer, but thank you.”

“Saeris, what’s going to happen. You have been so…unhappy as of late.” Maxwell asks. “What aren’t you telling me?”

 “I…would rather not…”

He sighs, and rubs his neck in frustration. “Saeris…”

“I hope…I hope that what I know doesn’t come to pass.” My hands fiddle with the ties to my tunic. “Maybe if I don’t plan the trip to Crestwood, Corypheus will attack and he won’t have the chance to…to...”

He studies me for a moment, before a tone of recognition surfaces in his voice. “He will break it off?” my friend asks. “Oh Saeris…”

“No, don’t say it.” I stop him wiping the tears that grow cold, high on my cheeks. “It may not happen. I can hope, right?”

“Yeah, yeah you can.” He looks sad. A few minutes pass of silence, staring into the dwindling fire before he stands. “I am going to get some sleep, wake me for watch.”

“Alright; sweet dreams.” I say, not turning away.

“It is going to work out, in the end.” He says and crawls into the single person tent.

~*~

The weeks have flown by at a lazy pace. I watch the sunlight dance through the small glass vial in my fingertips. The clear water-like fluid sparkles as the sun fractures inside the sealed vial.

It had taken me some time to finally inspect the object after the events at the Temple of Mythal. The small thing, brimming with magic, was barely larger than my thumb nail, clear glass with a wooden stopper, sealed with dark burgundy wax.

I already could feel what it was. It was but a few drops of the Well of Sorrows. It is not enough to be utterly controlled by the goddess, but enough to hear just a few whispers. Perhaps, it is the thoughts of Mythal herself?

My thoughts were louder than the soft rapping on the wooden door to my chamber, and the silent footsteps of my Elvhen lover as he approached. “Vhenan,” he whispers as his lips brush the crest of my ear. I yelp uncontrollably, jutting upright on the sofa. I glare at him as he erupts in laughter, brushing his cool fingers across my flushed cheeks. “You were so deep in thought, I considered leaving you to them.” He circles around, sitting beside me, and pulls me against his chest as he leans back against the cushions. “However, I could not resist how…stunning your lips look in the sunlight.”

His warmth immediately releases any distain I had harbored; his lips find mine in soft and deliberate kisses, and the brush of his magic sends sensational shivers down my spine, warming my core. My hand shoves the small vial between the cushions as I lean in to the embrace, resting the weight of my torso on his broad chest.

In this intimate moment, I relish the gentle caresses and unspoken whispers of love that pass between us. I can almost forget the flurry of doubts and worries that plague my deepest thoughts.

I have to tell him the truth.

“Vhenan…” he whispers against my lips. “I wished to inform you that we are going to take a short excursion from this place.” I lean back, looking into his deep eyes.

I see no fear, no doubt, no lies.

“May I ask why? The eve of battle could come upon us at any time.” I ask softly, brushing my thumb across his dampened lower lip.

“I wish to tell you something.”

Oh.

Maybe…just maybe…he will tell me the truth?

Then I must as well.

With newfound resolve, my eyes flit up to meet his again. “I have something I wish to discuss with you as well, my heart.” I whisper, trying to hide the shaking in my voice. “I look forward to it.”

He smiles and pulls my head down to rest against his. His eyes close and a soft smile graces his godlike face. “Good, then, my love, we will leave tomorrow night.”

“Where are we headed?” I ask.

“There is a glen where I have often slept. It has ancient magic that yet lingers, and the Veil is thin. I believe you will find it to your liking.” He kisses me once more and sits me upright. “It is outside of Crestwood.”

I can’t deny the pain that stabs at my heart at that word, but I cover the wincing with a lazy smile. “It sounds wonderful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Onward to Crestwood! Teehee  
> I've had a lot of people asking how I would address the heartbreaking scene with Solas...  
> This part may take a bit to tweak it just right, so hold on!  
> Again, thanks for everyone reading my works, 300+ kudos!!!   
> Have a great weekend everyone!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws the chapter, and runs away!*
> 
> <3

I felt like a lead weight was in my gut the entire trip toward Crestwood.

As much as I restrained my fear and nervousness, I was more afraid of what he’ll say when I finally tell him the truth.

We made the trip to Crestwood in three days, stopping to camp in small, out of sight alcoves, away from the prying eyes of shemlen and Inquisition scouts. In the day light hours, we spoke as we always had; discussing history, magical theory, and Solas showed me a few healing techniques from ancient times. We gathered herbs and simply enjoyed each other’s presence. At night, we explored the Fade, he drifted ever closer to his truth when we saw distant, almost forgotten memories of an ancient Elvhen settlement.

“Few would realize that such places existed; the Dalish believe all Elvhen lived in great cities such as Arlathan.” He explained as we walked among the silent visages and wispy memories. “That is, however, a very unfortunate misunderstanding of the culture. Such villages and trading posts were common and vital to many of the less privileged people.”

“Do you suppose,” I ask, trying not to directly inquire about his history, “that such people could rise up the ranks? Go from pauper to prince, so to speak?”

I remembered his notes; I had seen his files while Leliana was away. He had grown up in a village not too unlike this one. It was far from the closest city, and long since abandoned to time. He must have had to overcome many obstacles to be where he is now.

“It was possible,” He smiles at me, taking my hand and guiding me through a rough patch of rocky outcropping within the memory. “It was, however, very difficult. Furthermore, once the war began between the Evanuris, these people were the first to be…recruited.”

“I see…” I say carefully. “The rich saw these people as nothing more than pawns, when in reality, they were just as capable.”

“Often times, they were more capable than those of the upper classes.” There is a look in his eyes when he speaks, that calls to mind the thought that he is remembering his own thoughts when he talks of this. It is not necessarily distain, or hate, just…reminiscing.

Often, we woke from the Fade at the same time, and found comfort in each other’s arms, making love beneath the moonlight and stars, wrapped in damp grass and woven blankets. We bathe in moonlit streams and wake embracing each other.

For those days and nights, I can almost forget what lies ahead.

Crestwood.

It isn’t raining when we arrive at the glen. Night fell some hours before, and instead of exploring the Fade, Solas takes my hand, and with gentle firmness, guides me to the shadowed clearing.

My heart is already screaming in protest. I am certain that he notices my pulse through my palm, and twitching fingers he holds carefully within his own.

“The Veil is thin here. Can you feel it? The tingle on your skin…” He says with a delightful, calm smile. Our light travel gear is deposited at the trail, beneath a sprawling ancient tree.

“It is beautiful.” I sigh, watching orbs of light float among the emerald leaves and dancing in the beams of moonlight that filter through the canopy. A small pond glitters with starlight at the far end, standing almost still, reflecting like a mirror.

“Vhenan…” he starts, looking down with shaky eyes. “I never had the chance to watch you open this…” From somewhere he produces the wooden box. “It is…important.”

I swallow the hard lump that is threatening to choke me, and take the box from him once again. He leads me to a dry, albeit moss covered log to sit. He watches me with such intensity that I feel myself blush beneath his gaze. My hands hold onto the precious thing as if my touch might break it; and I am afraid of what I will find inside. Slowly, my magic unlocks the glyph that seals it, and I lift the lid.

Loosely wrapped in blue silk, is a pair of simple silver rings. The narrower one has a brilliantly sparkling—glowing even—stone that sits flush against the silver metal. I cannot help the shock that widens my eyes and I look up at him. “S-Solas…”

“I must confess that I have been less than honest with you, vhenan.” He whispers. “When I first made these…I believed that the truth would be too much for you to bare, but…”

“Solas…I…” My eyes flood instantly. “Solas, my heart, please…”

He carefully pulls the smaller ring from the box, and takes my hand with such warmth and love that my body shakes anew. “I am offering you this, as a promise.” He whispers, placing the ring carefully on my finger. “A promise that I will return to you. No matter how long it takes, or how far I must stray from your side…”

My brain snaps into realization. “Solas…are you leaving?”

“I must, vhenan. I am sorry.” His eyes look suddenly very sad. “I…am not who you think I am.”

The tears stop, and I pull my hand to my lap. The stone glows ever so slightly, like a faint blue star. “I know.”

It escapes my lips before I could compose a thought to do so. “I…I have always known.”

His breath catches, and he visibly tenses in my peripheral vision.

“So…Solas, perhaps…before I accept this promise, you should tell me the truth.” I move to take the ring off, but his hand covers mine, sealing it. My eyes, now set with determination, focus on his. “And I’ll tell you mine.”

“You’ll tell me yours…?” he repeats. “What are you saying?”

The butterflies that had been hiding in my stomach have grown to monstrous size, and I push down the sensation to vomit what food I had left in my stomach. “I have been withholding a very large part of me…from you.” I cannot look at him, but I feel his gaze harden on me as I put the box aside and stand. The air suddenly feels very thick, and I ball my hands against my stomach to stifle the shaking in my voice. “Because I know who you are.”

“How…Saeris, you had best explain…” He is almost angry, I can hear it. I have to focus!

“I know you are Fen Harel.” My resolve cracks then. “And I know…all of it. The orb, the anchor, the Veil…”

He stands, rubbing his neck with his hand, frustrated, processing what I am saying. “And yet…you stayed? You—do you have any idea what I am capable of?”

He is furious, confused, and a little scared, although he would never admit that. “I have a good idea, yes.” I reply, standing with my toes at the water’s edge. My reflection shimmers and ripples, and I realize my tears had begun anew, and now drop into the lake. “And that is why I am here.”

“Why? What is your purpose? Who sent you?” he bellows from across the glen. Even with my back turned to him, I can feel his aura flare, harden, like steel, and hold me at a distance. My heart shatters, and I pull the ring from my finger.

“I…am not from Thedas. My spirit was brought from a place very far from here…from across the Fade, beyond the beyond…Given a new purpose in exchange for relieving me of a painful existence.”

He is growing frustrated, but I continue. “I was given a new body, built from the Fade itself; given form from the very existence of magic itself!” I look at him. “I was not born of a mother and father…not in the normal sense. I was given two tasks to complete in exchange for this—“ I gesture to myself, “The first was to save Thedas.”

“From the Breach?” he grumbles.

I nod, turning to him. “The second, was to save you.”

He stops, and the silence that follows stretches for what feels like ages. “Save me?”

His question is hardly a whisper. “Yes. What you have set out to do will not only destroy this world, but it will also destroy you, with no promises of success.” I answer. “Someone cares very much for you, and they knew…they knew that you need help.”

“Who?!” He yells. I flinch.

“It is not my place. But trust that I am not here to do you any harm.” I say calmly.

“Trust?! How can I trust anything you have to say?” he yells. “You have been spying on me from the start! I gave you my heart, I…I…”

“And I gave you mine, knowing you were doing the same.” The firmness in my voice was growing. He is getting angry because I deployed the same tactics as him. How…how dare he?

“Why?” he demands, striding to me with such speed that, had I not expected a harsh reaction, would have caught me entirely off guard. He is in my face in moments. “Why do you remain!? If you know as much as you claim, then you know I am dangerous, you now I can destroy you, that I might have already done so!”

“Because…you had my heart before we even met.” I answer. “I am not as weak as you assume, Solas.”

“You yet call me by that name…You make no sense.” He backs away, and I can feel him pull at the Fade.

“It was your name first. Before that title you took as a badge of honor.” I answer simply. “It is, at your core, who you are.”

“How can you be so certain. You know nothing!” the force in his voice is strong enough to send the birds and wildlife scurrying away in the night. Energy explodes from him, and I stand my ground, shielding my face from the leaves that are uplifted and expelled from his proximity. Calmly, I walk to the box, and replace the ring.

“I know enough. It is you, the ages old, yet recovering Evanuris who knows so little!” I reply, feeling my own magic stretch, and latch onto the threads of the Fade that come so readily to me. “Do you think your friend would send me here unprepared? Do you believe me so weak to snap beneath your will?”

My skin glows with magic, as my emotions fuel my words and my magic. “Go. Run. I will not have you interfere with my goals.” He says, fists clenched, and eyes burning with fury.

“No.”

He growls and magic flares from him, threatening to explode in force. “I will destroy you, don’t you realize that?”

“No, you will not.” And something in me snaps. It is as if the threads that hold me back from my full potential are breaking, and my own force explodes like a shockwave in the glen, shaking the trees and knocking lose debris into the water. It would have been enough to topple a soldier, but he stands firm.

His aura shifts, and a mass of Fade debris flies straight for me. It disintegrates with a wave of my hand, and in turn, I send a punch like spike of pure energy, that lights the glen in pure white.

It hits him straight on, but his arms block the force, and he is only pushed back a few feet. He sends another, followed by a crushing wall of force, and I stumble back, my feet landing in the water.

He is attacking me, but not in earnest. He is trying to scare me, to push me away. I cannot—no, I will not allow him to be alone!

As he flings the next spell, a brilliant shield covers me, and I will the roots of trees to grow, wrapping around his legs with a normally bone-crushing grip. He Fade step’s away, showering me with freezing ice, attempting to encase me as we had done so many times to Templars and demons alike.

But I am not like them. The magic simply evaporates at a single thought. Wind whips at my face, and I feel a sting as it slices through my cheek, and warm blood trickles down my neck. Again, the plants heed my call, and vines whip at his hands and arms, pinning him, but he—with the strength of the Evanuris, simply snaps them, breaking free, and shielding himself from the barrage of force that I send at him.

His magic is focused on elements, my own, on the pure source—the spirit energy of the Fade itself. This dance—the back and forth sparring—continues into the night. My skin is aglow with the touch of magic, and I grow bright like a star in the glen, fighting the wolf.

But I do not want to harm him.

“Vhenan, you yet surprise me.” He calls between spells.

I rush at him, my hands encased in energy, and swing for his face, and when he blocks, turning me to the side, I kick his leg out, and he is pushed with enough force that his feet drag up the grass, leaving a pile of dirt and greenery behind him. “I will continue to do that.” I answer with a pant.

He creates a blade of magic, and closes the distance between us with terrifying speed. I see it all as if in slow motion, and shield the blow, but his power gets the upper hand and I am flung to the ground a few yards back. I cough, and feel the warmth of blood trickle from my lips.

I smile.

It is strange, but his attacks, although they hurt…

My mind goes to the memory of our first night in Crestwood; the magical wolves that circle, pounce, bite at each other, dancing in this sort of primal way. This is what it must feel like…

To be the hunter, to be nearly crazed by the hunt, to watch and toy with your prey, this is what it must feel like. I have caught your scent, wolf.

My eyes warm with magic, and they flare with blue light, as I send a pulse of magic that even shakes the giant stone monolith that watches the glen. My wounds heal, leaving the stain of red on my skin.

He is crushed beneath it, and I hear the snap of bone. I wince, my heart suddenly not in the spell, and it slacks. He stands, blood trickling from a cut on his head, and his left arm dangling at an uncomfortable angle.

And he grins. Feral, wild, excited.

Magic surges, and his arm heals almost instantly. He pounces on me, grabbing my wrists, and I Fade step behind him, grabbing his. His muscles strain as I grip his wrists, and twist his arm behind his back, but his newly healed arm ignites with blue fire, and I am forced to jump away as an orb of fire blasts at the ground where I stood.

“Do you believe me yet, my heart?” I grin, standing in a lazy defensive stance. My heart is still racing, and sweat is sticking my tunic to my body.

He laughs, and fires another blue fireball at me, blasting away the shield barrier and knocking me back once more. In a blink, his body is absorbed into dark mist, and reshapes into a giant black wolf. He stands several heads taller than me now, and his sheer mass will be difficult to overcome.

But…

Such a spell this late in the game is taxing on his mana reserve. Even a god like him will be weakening with such strain. I have learned much under his tutelage; and the knowledge that is trapped within my own being awakened with each day. Things I never knew I could learn were suddenly just…there. As each restraint breaks in me, new knowledge fills my mind, stretching my memory and capability. He lunges.

I Fade Step twice, knowing he would be able to close the distance to my first landing too quickly for me to block any sort of attack. He too, knows I am less capable in melee than at range; he knows muscle is my downfall.

But I have grown quick, and my eyes pick up on the subtle indications of his movements. Although purely on defense, I keep just a half step ahead of him. He has years of battle practice, ages of knowledge and training, where I simply have the theory. His massive form is faster than it should be, and for a time his attacks are constant, ruthless and without any sign of fatigue.

I dart from place to place, between stones, in the trees, right behind him, and even atop the stone statue. Each time, mocking, taunting him, burning away his energy slowly, while keeping my own at a steady, even pace.

This…is fun.

But I can feel my strength fading, albeit slower than his. And I cannot lose.

The plan has to be flawless, I have to get the upper hand, and execute it with perfect accuracy, or I will not have the mana to continue.

Dispelling his shape change will take a huge amount of my reserves, so I have to be prepared. I wait, dodging and running until I find the perfect opening.

The dispel will be focused, all the power into one, direct contact spell. I have to be close enough to touch him, but far from his grasp. Then…

I fade step onto the base of the statue, and he charges at me, laughing as much as a wolf could, at my seemingly foolhardy attempt to get away from him. He runs at full speed, and at the last moment, I leap, using a bit more than I wanted of my mana to propel me upward quickly, summersaulting over his head.

One finger is all it takes, taping him on the top of his head, directly between the ears, for the dispel to shatter his form. I land with a weak tumble, the earth knocking the wind out of me as I come to a stop a few yards from him. He is crouched, panting, shaking, and covered in sweat. I feel the shake of his aura, now weak from mana strain. But his prone position recovers faster than my own, and he leaps, landing on me with full body contact.

His strong grip holds fast my wrists and his legs pin my legs to the earth. For a moment, a victorious grin splashes his fine features, as sweat drips down onto my face.

But I am not so weak. Not yet.

With one final push, I flip us both, and with the last of my mana, the roots of the tree we landed beneath whip and curl around his arms and ankles, and I am straddling his midsection, one hand on his throat, and the other filled with white fire. At that moment, the game is won.

We stare, panting, exhausted, inches from contact. There is no hate, no fear, no pain. I release the fire, and my body relaxes. My prey, the one who holds my heart, stares up at me, expectantly watching me, with his pupils dilated and focused.

The atmosphere changed during the fight. I couldn’t pinpoint when. As his body relaxed in my hold, there was a whole new feeling in his aura; a deep understanding, and pure, simple need.

I leaned down, and kissed him. His lips met mine, craning his neck up to close the distance. When our lips made contact, his body shivered, and he was defeated. My hand released his neck, and cupped his jaw, and I angled his face to deepen the kiss.

This small action spurned on such a desire in him, that his body grew warm instantly. My tongue traced the contours of his bottom lip, and he gasped, giving me entrance. I explored his mouth, his tongue dancing with mine.

The spell holding him fades, and instantly his arms are wrapped around me, pulling me close to him as my lips trail from his, to his jaw, and down the slender lean muscles of his neck. His head falls back, eyes closing in pleasure as one of my hands slides without hindrance down his chest to his waist. His tunic sweater had ridden up ever so slightly, and my hands, now growing cool from sweat and the night chill, finds exposed skin between his shirt and trousers.

My palm flattens against his stomach as it slowly shifts the tunic up. He sits upright, holding me with one arm, and the other assisting with removing the tunic. My hand feels every muscle, every pulse of his body as it glides up. He shudders slightly beneath my touch, and I pull away long enough to pull the shirt off of him.

Wisps dance around the glen, circling us, hovering like fireflies, as his hands lace into my hair. I kiss down his shoulder, nipping and lapping at the slightly salty, hot flesh. He shifts and a heavy breath escapes his lips, warming my neck. With one hand, he pulls the ties to my tunic, and it unlaces easily.

Now he pulls my head back firmly, opening my neck to him. His lips skim from my chin, slowly down my throat, not kissing, just barely touching my skin, to my collar bone. This delicate touch immediately sets my senses aflame, and my core writhes against the growing hardness I am still straddling.

Unlike the battle, his motions are slow, gentle, and free. Nothing is calculated, nothing is precise or practiced; it is as if he understands I am who I always was, even after my nature was revealed. His hand slips beneath my tunic, sliding up my back, raising my shirt up over my head, before it too is tossed to some dark shadow and forgotten. My breast band is similarly discarded, and his lips continue their course downward. His lips finally make full contact, sucking at the sensitive swollen nipple. One hand still in my hair, the other holding my lower back, he holds me against him as he laps and nips, exciting every nerve in my body, then kissing and caressing them, as if easing any hurt he had caused me.

Somehow, we end up by our gear, shedding the last of our clothing in a flurry of hands and kisses. Solas’s body, so naturally dominant over mine, shakes beneath my own force as I am once again sitting across his lap, my own soaking core grinding against his hot and hardened manhood. He struggles at first, to get the upper hand, as if the game yet continues; but this is my victory.

My lips trace his neck, as my hands claw at his shoulders and back. His moans and quaking arms around me send intense heat to my sex, and my hips rut up against him. One hand slides down my back, grabbing my hip; he is using the grip to pull me closer, and lifting me just a little. I can feel him try to guide me over his member; the pressure of him gliding along my heated core makes me groan against his lips.

My eyes flutter open, and my lips, panting from lack of breath, linger a breath away from Solas’s. I shift my hips, feeling his erection just breaching my tightened entrance. I close my eyes as I ease down on him. One of my hands grips his shoulder as he penetrates me. His hands grip my waist hard as I drop lower. Once my hips touch his, Solas leans in for a kiss, while both of my arms wrap around his shoulders. Solas leans back against the grass, eyes half closed, swollen lips splayed slightly with ragged breath. Slowly I begin to move my hips, raising them up and down slowly. I can feel a shock wave inside my gut with every movement. That familiar sense of magic creeps into each touch, and every nerve in my body feels alive.

My body moves faster, feeling a need for more friction. Solas’s eyes close, and his hands clench down tightly on my gyrating hips. He's trying to level his breathing. I can't help but moan every now and again. He pulls my hips down as I move, his hips begin to buck up, meeting mine. Solas’s eyes meet mine as I lean to rest my head against his. Our movements begin to get tougher as the need for friction grows.

I can hear Solas groan louder as his hips snap up harder. I cannot help myself moan more as the movements become less uniform and more instinctual. Every time Solas’s cock is hilted within me, I feel myself clench around him. With each moment my mind abandons me further to the throes of my passion, and I become less a woman, and more a beast.

The noises that escape me are little more than grunts and groans, mirrored only by Solas’s own ragged voice and the obscene sound of sweaty, sex coated flesh in the still glen. My core tightens, and I angle myself just a little more, to get the most sensation from his bucking hips. My head falls to his shoulder, and I nip and kiss anywhere my lips can reach. Solas’s strong arms wrap around me, pulling me onto him with each thrust, his face burrowing into my hair. His breath is so hot, so ragged, unrestrained, that with each exhale I moan his name.

His grip grows tighter around me as I feel my core knot up with my approaching release. My back arches, and I feel him swell within me; he is so close, and his speed and force increases. His head rolls back, and he moans my name, although his voice is hardly a whisper now.

“M-my love—“ I manage to choke out as my orgasm explodes in me, leaving me screaming incoherently. I see only white, my core thrills with sensation, and my mind empties entirely. He continues his movements through my orgasm, picking up speed and veracity as I crest. The magic I release must be something, because he follows suit, with one final thrust, his grip grows so strong I am certain it will leave marks. His hips twitch and thrust as if simply remembering the muscle movements a few more times before I feel him release a breath I am certain neither of us knew he was holding.

My head slumps to his shoulder, and I realize I am breathing just as hard as he is. One of his strong, gentle hands again laces in my hair at my scalp, pulling my head in toward his. Solas’s lips gently brush my temple, and he whispers sweetly in Elvhen, apologizing, asking forgiveness for his pride.

“My love…I am sorry…” he chokes, brushing my hair down my sweat slicked back. “I am…so sorry.”

I place one finger on his lips, silencing him instantly. I extricate myself from him, and lay beside him, curling around his now very relaxed body. “I am sorry it came to this, my love.”

He kisses my forehead, and covers us with blankets. My eyes fall, heavy, and I am lulled to sleep by the sound of his heartbeat under my head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I had SO many people beg me to change the outcome of Crestwood. Really, I didn't want to end it like that too--so yeah, here we go.   
> Thank you everyone for holding on this long.


	25. Chapter 25

“Are preparations complete?” Maxwell asks me across the War Table. I nod, making the last few notes for magical precautions I would be employing the following morning.

“I’ll begin at dawn. The energy needed will be exhausting, so I will need to rest beforehand.” I tell him, pocketing the notes. “Everyone will be at the banquet tonight?”

The Inquisitor nods. “I have ordered everyone’s attendance. Are you certain about telling them?”

I sigh, and look up through the stained glass window. “It is time. Solas took it relatively well, so I have to believe everyone else will as well.”

It’s been a week since I returned to Skyhold. Solas had spent a couple extra days in solitude, and returned after I had. Since then, he was…distant. He does not outright ignore me, but he also has refused all advances and lessons, and keeps our private discussions short. I assume it is due to the realization that I am the closest thing to his equal on this side of the Veil.

I never got the chance to tell him that I am intending on lowering the Veil without destroying Thedas. Our interactions are limited enough that I don’t tell him I have the cure for Maxwell’s anchor issue either.

As much as it hurt to be distanced from him, I focused on the upcoming battle preparations, rather than my Elvhen lover. The rings he had left for me hangs from a chain on my neck, and occasionally I could feel the tingle of magic from it, while I was alone in my room, or studying in the library. Often, my nights find me in the Crossroads, carefully wandering the empty, soundless space, placing glyphs on the active mirrors, which would alert me when they are used. It is only the first of many steps that I take before the final battle with Corypheus.

Maxwell was away when I had returned; he had gone with the advisors to get Blackwall out of jail. Apparently, just after my departure, Blackwall had gotten word of his man’s execution and ran to his rescue, as I told him he would. From all I had heard, he made his stand, without doubt or fear, and waited his trial. Maxwell used his influence and connections to have him returned to the Inquisition. Most people did not agree with this action, but it was the Inquisitor’s choice, so it was respected. I was glad to see the gruff man around Skyhold, and he bowed to me with deep respect when I saw him upon entering Skyhold.

“You can take the rest of the afternoon off, Saeris,” Maxwell says. His hand flares angrily, the green spurting and grinding almost audibly. His face winces and he shakes his hand as if to flick away the pain. “I will see you at sundown.”

After excusing myself, I make my way to my chambers. Solas’ scent still lingers in the air, even though he has not visited me here since before our trip. My hand clutches at the necklace, wrapping about the rings without a thought, and the cool metal tingles in my grip.

Does he realize I can—and will—deconstruct most of the elaborate plans he had been creating up to this point? Does he truly believe I am as strong magically as I claim? I want to ask him, but every time I look his way, I am struck with the unmistakable sensation that he does not want to talk to me. It is strange, after our trip; I had thought we were good to go. I thought that we had come to an understanding; yet even now, his distant nature is even noticeable to the most oblivious of my friends. They all had expressed concern over our behavior, and I had to lie, and do my best to look unconcerned. I doubt they believe me.

I pour a bath, and go about organizing my table of magical…things, that I now kept openly displayed. On it was the small vial that I had received from Abelas. I pick it up, and roll it between my fingers as I return to the bath.

At first, my movements are automatic; I break the seal on the bottle, strip down naked, and then pour the few drops into the warm bathwater. My mind returns to my own demands when the water shimmers with magic, and swirls about the steam that emanates from it.

I can feel the magic—the will of the magic—as I dip my toes into the water, and lower myself into the tub. The whispers grow as the water gathers around my chest, and the familiar tingle of intense magic seeps into every pore of my skin. With an exhale, I drop my head below the water’s surface.

_What I see isn’t words; flashes of memory, of thought, of ideas that were beyond my own. I saw the shimmer of magic as it covers the land; the Veil. I see the faces of the Evanuris, shocked and angered as they disappear from existence as we know it. I hear the faint hum of music of long lost ages, and the weeping of a man, bent over the bloody, crumpled body of a woman; Solas, his hair long like in my first Fade dreams, and the woman…_

_“It is me.” Mythal’s voice breaks the music in solemn contemplation. “He wouldn’t leave my side for some time. His pain shook the foundations of the city, and later, his anger destroyed this place.”_

_The woman I know now as Mythal walks up to my wispy, half-there form. “I want to help, but I have told him what I am, and I fear he no longer trusts me.” I think, hearing the whisper of my thoughts in the magic dream._

_“He may not.” Mythal answers. “But you will help. I will unlock the last of your magic, and the rest will come to you.”_

_I nod, and as the memories fade, the whispers grow louder, and Mythal speaks in tandem, the chant filling me with strong magical energy. I feel the restraints finally snap._

Gasping my head shoots above the surface of the water, willing air to fill me. My skin is aglow, constant, warm and glittering even beneath the water. The magic from the well is faded, or rather, absorbed into me.

My mind was racing but I felt…nothing. I felt no different, other than flushed and a little too warm from being submerged in hot water. I lifted my hands, and watched faint ripples of magic dance across my skin, before I stood, and dried off.

~~

“What is the meaning of this?” Cassandra is asking from her seat at the table. Her food is barely touched, and she is visibly irritated. Sera is stealing bits of food from the warrior’s plate, and giggling while shoving each piece in her overly full mouth.

Cole appears in the middle of the floor, chewing on a sweet roll. “The worries work into the dark, driving deep inside. They curl into a ball, lead and fire. Will they hate me?”

“Boss says we need to be here, so we’re here.” Iron Bull answers, chugging down a flagon of some evil concoction of alcohol. He coughs and laughs as Dorian fusses over him.

“There are important announcements to be made, and this is the best way to address everyone,” Josephine smiles politely at the head of the table. Cullen and Leliana agree with the woman in a few quiet words, and Cassandra focuses again on her plate, swatting away Sera’s prying grasps from the roll of bread on her plate.

Blackwall, Varric, and Maxwell were talking quietly, and Vivienne silently sipped her expensive wine from her special silver gilt goblet.

Okay, calm. Everything will be okay.

I step from the garden entrance doorway, and nod to Maxwell, who looks up at me with a reassuring smile. I look around, and find that there is only one face I do not see here.

“Everyone,” Maxwell clears his throat, coming to stand beside me. “Thank you for agreeing to this…announcement?” He scratches his head awkwardly. “Anyway, this is important, and I expect everyone to remain calm and quiet until its completion.”

He nods to me. The nervousness in my stomach has coiled into a solid lead mass, and my stomach threatens to expel it as soon as I open my mouth.

“First off, I want to say thank you all for allowing me to work at your side.” Inhale…exhale. “However, as many of you have suspected, I have not been entirely honest with you.”

There is a murmur from several members of the Inquisition, and Leliana eyes me with such severity I feel that my heart is being carved from my body from her gaze alone.

“I have not lied, and I had, in fact, joined the Inquisition totally unaware of my own…person. Please, let me explain and then you are free to cast judgment.”

“Why should we trust you?” Vivienne sneers.

“You do not have to, Lady De Fer.” I answer her with a sigh. “And I have, as you all recall, served as many hours in the field and behind the lines as all of you. I have done nothing to challenge or endanger the Inquisition or any of its members.”

“That is true. It was her efforts that saved many of my men, when Adan and the other healers could not,” Cullen piped up with a nod in my direction.

“Thank you, Commander,” I smile and he nods in return.

“The researchers also report having made significant strides in their work due to her research and assistance.” Josephine adds with a smile.

“Thanks Josie.” My stomach, although still heavy with worry, eases from my throat. “As I was saying, I was not aware of my own position when I arrived, and it was not until recently that I became entirely aware.”

The room fell silent and I inhale with as much confidence as I can. “As we have recently found out, the Evanuris are not exactly gone. We have met Mythal—or what remains of her; and this is confirmed through the Inquisitor himself, as well as Morrigan.” The witch glares at me from her seat, where she had, up to that moment remained still and silent.

“The reason why no one has been able to find any information—even Leliana’s best scouts and spies—is simply because there is nothing here to find. In short, I was not born here; my soul was never part of this world. Mythal created this body, and pulled my soul from beyond the beyond, and created me. As far as my knowledge is concerned, I feel it was something like…a story—a book of sorts—in which each of you played a part. In the story, all of the events we have lived through played out. There were parts I wanted to change—to improve—beyond what the original tale foretold. I was not aware that my existence would change the world as much as it had, and I had to compensate for this. I was brought here for the sole purpose of saving all of Thedas. I have no desire to gain power over people; I have no wish to make anyone suffer…”

My eyes fall to a figure leaning in the doorway to the rotunda, and see Solas, covered in shadow, watching me with his arms crossed. “I am merely a tool, and will remain as such until the end of days.”

“Demon…” Vivienne grumbles and starts to gather magic about her. With the wave of my hand, I absorb the gathering Fade energy, shutting down her attempt before it’s begun. Her eyes widen in surprise, but I force my voice to remain calm. Leliana starts to rush at her to restrain the mage, but I stop her with a gesture, and she returns cautiously to her seat.

“I have tried all I could to protect the people I cherish here in Thedas. My work is far from over. But, as we come upon the eve of battle against the worst foe Thedas has seen in many ages, I wanted to say one final thing.” I fall to my knees, my head bowing low. Maxwell starts to object, but I continue. “Please accept my help, my protection, my magic, for as long as it is needed for the peace and prosperity of Thedas, and all of its denizens. I do not expect your kindness, nor do I expect your respect. It is my only wish to protect as many as I can.”

There are many long moments of silence in the hall, every shift echoed down the stone walls. My chest tightened, expecting someone to come down with a blade before my eyes come up off the floor. Then, slowly, I hear a quiet, firm clapping, and look up to see Cassandra applauding me with a respectful smile.

“Saeris, get up.” Maxwell starts, walking back toward me.

“Well said, my dear.” Dorian grins, raising his glass. “I for one think it would be foolish indeed to turn down your offer. No one can honestly say that you have not done your share.”

“Come on, kid.” Varric smiles. “Did you think we would really kick you out?”

“I think you’re damn good,” Iron Bull adds. “If the Inquisition doesn’t take you, the Chargers always will. Even if the magic stuff is weird.”

Vivienne huffs and drinks her wine, purposely avoiding my gaze. Sera, for once, remains totally silent, her mouth agape in shock, watching someone she perceived as ‘high and mighty’ on her knees. I look up and she smiles at me like she used to. “You’re weird, yeah? That won’t change. It would be too quiet around here if you was gone.”

“So…you’re saying you are…like one of those Elvhen gods then?” Blackwall looks a bit lost. “Damn, no wonder. It is my honor to stand at your side, Lady Saeris.”

One by one, the members greet me, and the nervousness in my stomach dissolves. I find my seat as a bard comes in to play music for our banquet. By the time I sit down, Solas is nowhere to be seen.

~~

The skies were still dark when I left my chambers. I carried a small satchel of supplies and began to circle the massive compound. Every fifteen feet, I drew a glyph in chalk, casting my barrier with an incantation, and moving on. It took until sunrise, when the scent of bread and morning fires were heavy in the air. I could hear the morning routines of the training soldiers in the courtyard, and the aching, tired heaviness in my body from the expenditure of my mana.

By lunch, I arrived at the very first glyph, and with a final breath, I finished the markings and went to the center of the compound.

I needed to rest, but I wanted to make sure everyone was okay first. The thought occurred to me that I could just set the shield, with everyone inside, and trap them in, while I face the crazy, power hungry Corypheus on my own. The thought of the earful I’d get from Maxwell deterred that idea right away. On the other hand, perhaps I would not be experienced enough to actually defeat the magister.

My room is cold and brightly lit by the morning sun by the time I return after the runes had been cast. With a groan, I lay down, staring up at the stone ceiling, and find myself drifting into a dazed sleep. I wander aimlessly in the hazy fields of the Fade, gathering any energy I could from my surroundings.

Once rested, I direct Leliana to pull back anyone not vital to the safety of Skyhold; any volunteers that wished to remain in the wilds were given provisions and explicit directions in case of attacking forces. People piled into the courtyards, pitching tents and stockpiling food and supplies in every available space. Nobles were sent from the city (much to Josephine’s dismay, several put up a fight and refused to leave), and only a few vendors were left within the walls of Skyhold.

Once my magic is cast, no one will leave or enter Skyhold until either I release the spell or I fall.

The knowledge of barriers like this just appeared in my mind; the more I think on it, the more I can understand the connection. It is not unlike the Veil; a layer of magic to separate two worlds, and I am the only connection. My resolve is strong, and I will let no innocent people be hurt by Corypheus.

That night I steadily walk toward Solas’s door. I tap lightly on the solid wood and hear no noise within. The door swings open with a gentle push, and I find his chambers empty. His battle gear is hung on their racks, books pile up on the small desk, and a collection of Elvhen artifacts litter the shelves and flat surfaces of the room.

I avoid the traps—the alarms set in glyphs on the floor, and head to his robes, hanging elegantly in the corner. My fingers trail down the collar. I still remember the fight, the way he looked at me after our last mana had been burned away, and all that remained was frustration. I remembered the way his lips felt on me when he finally realized who and what I am; and I missed him. But I also knew him well.

Once the battle with Corypheus is won, he will disappear. This will not change. I feel his determination burning in the Fade, and his fear of me exposing him flares just as bright. “I am sorry, vhenan.” I mutter, and pull the chain from my neck, tucking it into a chest pocket. “I will not lose you.”

The night is spent in suspense. I listen, watching from my perch atop the highest rooftop in Skyhold, bracing against the stinging cold wind. It won’t be long now; I feel the shift in the air before anything is seen or heard. The Veil strains and stretches, like fabric that is pulled too hard. Any moment now, the fabric will tear, and a new hole will allow demons to be sucked through.

Sunlight greets me before long, and the snow on the mountains is painted blood red by the sun. It is an ominous morning.

The people of Skyhold are on edge when I walk through. They pay me little mind, and I assist where I can as I make my way to the main hall. The tension in the air is tangible, and everyone seems aware of the impending fight. Cells of Leliana’s spies and patrolling troops from the mountains are steadily retreating into the sanctuary of our castle, their faces dirty and tired.

“Saeris,” Maxwell greets me as I climb the stairs. “Are we prepared?”

I nod, looking out over the crowds gathered. “As ready as I can be. Are you well? This will be a trying battle for you.”

He nods and flexes his marked hand. “It hurts, from time to time. Today, it won’t seem to ease at all. It is worrying.”

“The battle will be soon. Possibly today.” I rub my eyes. “I am going to grab a bite to eat, and change. I suggest you ready the others, I suspect the fight will be upon us before the sun sets.”

He agrees and we continue to the dining hall in silence.

It is just passed mid-day when I feel the tremor in the Veil. My battle attire is donned and I am racing to the War Room in record time. “Inquisitor!” I cry as the doors fly open. Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine look only mildly surprised by my intrusion. “It’s begun. Call everyone back!”

No sooner had those words left my lips, when the world itself seemed to quake as if shaken by the Maker himself. The sun was blotted out by green and black clouds, and the Breach tore anew in the heavens above the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

“Cullen!” I yell at the commander, who seems utterly lost for a moment. “Pull all men back, everyone who isn’t going into the field. Now!”

Maxwell rushes from the room, barking orders at anyone nearby. People are screaming, babes are crying in the courtyard, and the clatter of metal echoes over it all. “Prepare the spell, Saeris.” Maxwell tells me, running to meet Cassandra, Varric, and Solas at the main hall doors.

The earth shakes as I scale the walls and rooftops. Demons spit from the massive rift, many landing at the foot of the mountain we are perched on. I see their dark forms crawling up the snow covered mountainside, and the hail of arrows from the archers on the battlements.

The Veil is broken, and the Fade is so close I feel it in each breath that I take. I gather it to me; energy fills me, reverberates through every fiber in my body, fills my thoughts, and spills from each pore. It is terrifying, it is beautiful…and it is strong.

My lips begin to mutter the spell as I balance on the roof. A dome shimmers from me, spreading like oil in a perfect hemisphere around the castle, shimmering white and bright against the snow. As the magic reaches the ground, it flares up bright white, and the shield is done. Just in time too. A boulder of a demon is hurled at it from the Breach, and it bounces off with a thunderous crunch, and it tumbles down the mountain.

Panting I sprint to the door, easily passing through the barrier. Maxwell and the others are waiting at the barrier wall. “This will keep them out?” Cassandra asks, stern faced.

“It will hold for a time, but even I am not without limits.” I assure her, my breath burning in my chest. “But you must hurry. Corypheus will be at the temple. He is going to detach the whole thing, raise it to the air, so only those who remain close will be able to assist you.”

“Well, Boss, what’s the plan?” Iron Bull asks, heaving his heavy hammer over his shoulder with a grin. “I’m itchin’ to kill some demon bastards.”

“You’ll get your chance, Bull.” Maxwell looks back at the people gathered in huddled masses. “Alright, Cass, Varic, Solas, you are with me. The rest of you, stay with the soldiers in the field. I want as many men back as we can. You are all the most skilled in the Inquisition, so you will be responsible for the soldiers.”

“Just make sure you come back alive too, Inquisitor.” Dorian looks worried, but smiles his charming grin. “We still have another game of chess to play, and I do believe you owe me a drink after the last one.”

“Everyone is worried, but be strong.” Maxwell looks at Cole, who fidgets with his sleeve, muttering to himself. “We will all return, we have to.”

Cole looks at me and I shake my head when he reads my thought.

_Solas won’t return._

With a confirming nod, I touch the barrier, and a hole opens that is large enough for a single person to get through. One by one, we exit, and I turn back in time to see Leliana and Josephine send us off with a noble bow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! Chapters are slow coming, but I haven't given up writing them, so stay with me~!  
> <3


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a short chapter. I just couldn't force more into it!

Even with the rushing wind that whips the Inquisition, the mountain is eerily quiet. At first, no voice can be heard. Everyone was silent.

My eyes wander to Maxwell; he’s face is hard and focused. Occasionally, I see him wince, as his hand flares green. In the dim light, I can see spots of red bleeding through the fabric of his tunic, beneath the panels of heavy armor. I wonder if I can ease that pain a little without interrupting the force needed to defeat Corypheus. I should have researched it before now; I suppose now it is too late to try.

Cole tried to talk to Solas as he walked steadily and assuredly before me, following Maxwell up the rocky mountain path. It is clear to me, watching his back tense and forcibly relax, that what the spirit says gets to him on some level, but he does not respond outwardly. Perhaps Solas replies in his mind? He still has done little more than glance at me for weeks.

Thoughts of self-doubt are starting to seep into my thoughts. What have I done? Am I truthfully able to do everything I have set out to accomplish? Is Mythal’s faith in me misplaced? He hates me. After everything, he no longer…

We barely pause when Sera, Dorian, and Iron Bull turned off about five minutes in, leaving with a nod and a weak smile to me. “You kids come back alive, you hear?” I try to tease, my face contorted into something like a smile tainted heavily with worry.

“C’mon, you won’t get rid of us that easy,” Sera grinned. “If it moves, I shoot it. If it doesn’t move, I’ll shoot it. Pretty easy, yeah?”

“Don’t shoot our guys, just demons,” Bull adds. “Saeris, you owe me a drink when we’re out of here. I have questions.”

“Of course Bull.”

Dorian sighs and waves at me, worry and stress straining his usually handsome features, as I feel the Fade bend and draw to him even now. He doesn’t say anything, but turns and marches behind Iron Bull.

Vivienne and Blackwall turned off shortly after, silently walking off with little more than a nod and a goodbye, and I can make out the sound of battle and the stench of demon blood that began to saturate the cold air.

“But she doesn’t understand.” I hear Cole say a little louder as we crest the next hill top. Solas puts a steady hand on his shoulder, and I can just catch the glance he casts my way as he follows Maxwell toward the last stretch of path before the temple ruins. I want to hold him, I want to promise him again that he can trust me, that I was on his side…but I do not.

“Be careful, all of you.” I try to muster what is left of my confidence and mental strength. “May your Maker watch over you.”

“You be safe as well, Saeris.” Cassandra nods, and leads the way up the mountain.

“Solas…” I choke, watching his broad back fade into the darkness without a word to me.

“He is unsure, conflicted, lost to ways from so long ago,” Cole says beside me. “But he still cares, he does not know how much to show to make the hurt less.”

I look at him, and the spirit seems very distraught with the thoughts of my lover. “It is alright, my friend. We will help him once everyone is safe.”

“You do not believe that,” Cole replies pointedly. He takes out his daggers, and I know he senses the presence of demons that are steadily growing in number to the west.

“I must believe it, or…”

I pull at the Fade, drawing power into myself, as if to quell the emotions that are afire in my head. All I can think of is his face, the stride and pace of his walk as his back disappears up the mountain…

“Falling, suffocating beneath the weight. Why does it hurt so much?” Cole answers and looks toward the demons that pepper the white blanketed mountainside. “They are coming.”

“Yes, Cole. I see them.” I don’t know if he is talking about me, or the demons. The demons could feasibly be in pain as well, from being torn from the Fade and thrown into the world. Now is not the time to consider the feelings of demons. Magic bursts forth, shielding the path so the Inquisitor would not be ambushed from behind. “Let’s release them from their hurt, Cole.”

He disappears as the first demons approach. The small patrol of Inquisition soldiers gather in formation behind me. “Alright kids, lets show Thedas the true power of the Inquisition!”

With a cheer, we charge, and my magic explodes before me in a cone, blinding and blasting back a handful of screaming demons.

Multitasking would be putting this mildly. I was firing spell after spell, shielding and healing the soldiers, including the woman that led me first to Skyhold. I was flinging spell after spell at the demons, knocking them back, pushing them off the cliff face, evaporating them with blazing white fire, and weakening them for the blades of my comrades.

Solas…please…

I misjudge the swing of a massive armored Pride demon, and catch part of its spiked gauntlet to my shoulder while I dodge out of the way. A flurry of arrows pierce the face of the demon, and Cole leaps in for the killing blow, bringing the beast to the ground with a thunderous thud. “Good work soldiers!” I cheer, feeling the warmth seeping down my arm as blood saturates the fabric of my battle robes. “For the Inquisition!”

Ignore the pain, the loosening of your grip, the blurring of your vision from loss of blood. There are others more important than you. Push.

We push the demons back, and somehow, come across Blackwall and Vivienne. They both have taken hits, and several soldiers are wounded; I order soldiers to drag the injured to safety, and quickly cast enough to stop the bleeding. “Vivienne! Behind you!”

I call out in time to see a fear demon strike the mage. Cole is fast enough to stop the demon’s talons from obliterating the mage, and she crumples back, her staff falling to her side as she lands in the blood spattered snow. My feet carry me faster now, racing across the snow as if I weighed nothing. “Hold on, Vivienne.” She tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked spattering of blood. “You’re slow, Lady De Fer.” I smile as magic pours out of me. “I am sure this mistake won’t happen again.” I teasingly joke as the wound heals and she swats my hand away.

“I am fine, Saeris.” She manages finally. “Although the cleaning bill is going to be atrocious.” I help her to the injured soldiers, and she stands guard there, rather than being in the fray.

How long the battle continued is anyone’s guess. It felt like an instant, and a lifetime at the same time. Time itself no longer seemed to matter, and by the time I saw the green magic of the orb shoot into the sky, closing the rift, most of the soldiers were too tired to continue the fight. The demons disappeared, sucked back into the Fade as the rift torn in the heavens closed, and the soldiers cheered.

I couldn’t hear them.

I was running.

My shield fell from the path as I rushed up the dirt laden snow. I can’t lose him!

Cole is by my side, running with me. Why he doesn’t he just appear up there?

“You need me more.”

I am winded by the time I make it to the foot of the stairs. I get to the field of battle just as Maxwell descends the stairs. Solas stands at the top, his face sullen and shadowed. The others come up behind me, all battle worn and weak, but alive.

Solas…vhenan…

My eyes are watering, the tears are making a mess of the dust and blood on my cheeks.

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra asks timidly.

“It is done.” Maxwell sighs, looking up at Solas. “Corypheus is defeated.”

There is a brief cheer from the Inquisition members and the small gathering of soldiers. “What do we do now, Inquisitor?” someone asks.

My eyes never leave Solas, and I see a pain unlike any other painted on his chiseled face. I blink once, and he is gone.

No…NO!

I take the steps three at a time, bounding up the ruins in stumbling leaps. He’s gone. Somewhere in the throngs of people outside, I hear Leliana and Cullen’s voice, but I only just register it. Between the clouds of dust and smoke that hover over the destroyed pavers and ashen soil, I see the broken orb, fractured on the ground.

“I’m sorry, Saeris.” Maxwell mutters behind me. I look back at him, and his face looks more pained and tired than I have ever seen him. “He…he wanted me to deliver a message.”

I slowly gather the broken pieces of the orb, wrapping them in my cloak. Words won’t come to me; my voice is lost to the howling wind that now has passed the mountains with the destruction of the rift.

“He said…he wanted me to tell you that he was sorry. He said, “Tell her, what we had, was real”, and…” Maxwell comes up to me, opening his right palm to show the delicate chain with both rings still attached. “You should keep these. He didn’t want you to forget him, even though he knows the pain he is causing you.”

The jewelry is dropped into my gloved hand; it looks strange being perfectly clean on the soiled leather of the glove. Even in the dim light, it sparkles. “Thank you, Maxwell,” I choke after a moment, and pocket the necklace, shaking off the tears. “You’re hurt! Why don’t you take care of yourself!? There’s blood everywhere! Saeris, I swear…” He sighs and hands me the last small potion from his belt. “Let’s get back, there is much to discuss. And I do believe you deserve a break.”

His lips curl into a half smile, still looking worried, but I force a smile onto my face. “It is alright, I will be fine.”

He puts a hand on my good shoulder and we walk silently back down the path, meeting up with the Inquisition on the way.

~~

There are so many people here, but it is so lonely.

I watch the celebratory banquet from the doorway to the gardens. My arms are wrapped around myself, as if to shield myself from the festivities around me.

People are pleasantly inebriated, eating to their heart’s content. Iron Bull bellows crude jokes and Sera laughs in a high pitched squeal; Dorian, flushed and grinning is laughing with Varric, who, although he looks sober, is definitely not. Vivienne drinks quietly on her own, smiling at the nearby conversations, and raises her glass to me in a silent ‘thank you’; I nod and smile weakly at her. Maxwell and Blackwall are talking to Cassandra and Josephine, while Cullen keeps handing the Inquisitor drinks with a gorgeous smile. Leliana is eating away at some odd looking cakes, and makes a delightful laugh as she grimaces at the flavor, laughing with a couple spies and servants that are refilling food and drink at the long tables.

“Longing, lonely, loss of self in the ocean of others…” Cole mumbles beside me, looking into my face with his big eyes. “It is okay, you are never alone.”

“Thanks, Cole. You are a good friend.” I stand up, dusting the shoulder of my shirt to rid it of non-existent dust.

“It is good to be here,” The spirit says. “Thank you for believing in me, for making me more.”

“It was in you all along, my friend. Thank you for helping me.”

There was a brief moment of silence, before Cole hands me a small bottle. “It will help.”

It looks like liquor of some sort, and I open it, taking a swig. It is sweet, and very strong, and my throat warms immediately. “Cole, we will find him. We just need…to wait.”

He nods and disappears in time for Maxwell to approach. “Saeris? Are you alright?”

“I am. How is the hand?” Change the subject. I don’t want to discuss me.

“It is stable, for now. But we can discuss that another day. May I have a word with you? Privately?” The slightly drunk man asks. I nod and follow him. There are hoots and hollers as we approach his chamber doors, “Cool it guys, this is business.”

“Right boss, whatever you say!” Iron Bull laughs with a wink and I shake my head and follow him inside.

We end up on the balcony, looking out over the mountains as the sun set. “Leliana says there is no trace of Solas. With the eluvians at his disposal, he could literally be anywhere.”

I flinch at his name, fighting back the burning in my eyes as I stare at the sun. “He won’t come back.”

“Sorry?”

Maxwell looks shocked at me, and I lower my gaze to my hands, as I open the bottle again, and take a healthy nip. “We will meet him again, but…not for two years.”

“I…see,” Maxwell sighs, rubbing his temple. “We are still going to look for any evidence of him. You’ll be crucial.”

“As you wish. I have already put alarms on what eluvians I know he has activated…but he is fast, cunning, and he knows me. It is likely that he knows I have done this, and he has taken counter measures. He won’t be found, and honestly…I…I don’t know if I want to find him right now.” The last part comes out as a whimper, as another tear falls from my eyes.

“You truly loved him, didn’t you?” Maxwell asks sadly. I nod. “He told me…to keep you safe. He asked me to protect you in his stead, because…because I was the only one who could understand how important you are.”

I can’t say anything. The words are just evaporating into gray in my head. A hot tear rolls down my cheek.

Maxwell inhales, his cheeks blushing in the sunlight. His hands grip the railing, as if steadying himself. There is a solid silence that hangs in the air; even the wind doesn’t make a sound. I can’t think straight; thoughts of Solas try to force themselves through my mental barrier, and it is taking all I can muster to keep it at bay.

“You are a good man, Maxwell. I will always watch over you, and you are always a friend…” I swallow the dry lump in my throat, trying to make my voice clearer. “You have done a great thing, and although the fight is not yet over, we have saved many people.”

He wraps his arms around my shoulders, hugging my face to his broad chest.  “It’s okay. You are hurting. I am sorry for bringing it up. Today is a good day, right? Take some time; if you need to leave, you are obviously free to do so. You must need some time alone.”

I nod against him and he releases me. I wipe the tears from my face, and force a smile to my lips. “I think a few stiff drinks are needed first. As you said, today is a win. We can pick up our swords once the sun rises. There is still a lot to do, but right now, I think you deserve to be free from it.”

“You know, I think you’re right.” He smiles. “Come on; we don’t want them getting the wrong idea.”

I laugh, albeit weakly, and follow him down the stairs to the rowdy party in the main hall.

Tomorrow will be a new dawn; the start of a new, wild adventure, full of new knowledge, new choices, new faces…and two lonely years of waiting. I will face new trials, new ideas, and have no basis and no memory on which to make any choices I have to make…

But that is tomorrow, tonight…I’ll forget. Tonight I’ll be just a soldier—a mage—that helped the Inquisition, that saved lives, that defended all peoples of Thedas…But it is hard.

It is hard to force the thoughts of Solas from my mind, but somehow, I manage it with the help of alcohol and some help from Cole, who just melts the thoughts away when I beg my mind to release me from the sorrow.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are slow coming, but I have not forgotten or given up! Real life has gotten crazy lately, so I apologize for taking so long.   
> Thank you all again for continuing to read.

_“It is time, Saeris.”_

_I am suddenly within the Fade as the night’s festivities fade to sobriety. I am lying on the ground, with Mythal standing but a few feet from me._

_“Mythal, you still…”I manage as she helps me to my feet._

_“Hush now, no spoilers.” Mythal grins as I dust off my rump and face her._

_“He’s coming. This will be the last we can speak,” I say firmly. “I won’t tell you more, I know you are aware of my knowledge. But if there is anything you can tell me, now is the time.”_

_Mythal smiles, while brushing loose hairs from my face. “No, child. You already know what you must do, and I just felt the sentimental need to say farewell.”_

_She must know._

_I nod, unsure of what to say. “Thank you, Mythal. I hope to be able to live up to your expectations.”_

_“You already have, child. What comes next is merely icing on the cake.” The older woman laughs, “Oh, don’t give that face! It does not suit you.”_

_“What would suit me then?”_

_“Noble robes, and a seat at my side. However, I sense that is not going to be the case.” She laughs again. “You have become a fine woman, Saeris. I would have been proud to see you raised to the status of Evanuris. The day may yet come, but I fear there is a chance I will not be there to see it. Not with these old eyes, anyway.”_

_“You flatter me, goddess,” I bow, unsure of how to respond to such a compliment from the most powerful goddess in the pantheon._

_“Do not bow to me, child. I should be thanking you. You have the drive and skill to surpass even me, someday,” she lifts my head and grins. “The whole world is watching you, and those in the Fade and beyond. You will do well.”_

_I nod, and smile. “You will be missed. Even your snarky attitude.”_

_She laughs, “I am not dead yet, child. But your words warm even my dark heart.” The woman embraces me, much like a mother would a child. “Be strong, your trials are not yet done. Now get going, you are running against time, and Fen’Harel is ages ahead of you.”_

I jolted upright in bed, still lying in my darkened room.

The sun had not yet risen over the mountains surrounding Skyhold, by the time I passed the Eluvian’s threshold. The Inquisition was quiet, still, at peace for the first time in countless nights; everyone from the Inquisitor to the lowest kitchen staff were pleasantly sleeping, still inebriated from the celebration the previous night.

I almost felt guilty leaving.

I left no note, and took anything of value with me. Although the battle had been won, I had much work to do, and I had no idea when I would be returning to Skyhold. Maxwell will worry; but he does not need to know what I am doing. He would guess, and I only hoped he would keep his distance.

It was not easy to erase my emotions connected to my Elvhen god as I left the safety of Skyhold. I knew that if I were to succeed, I need a clear mind, and I would need to be free of the irrational thoughts that plagued me with every memory of Solas. I had to be objective.

The maze of Eluvians in the Crossroads looks more desolate than before. The magical roadway is devoid of sound, of wind, and of color, and I could not help but think that someone—or something—was watching me. Passing by several of the doorways that I had previously set wards on, I quickly found they had been tampered with, or disabled.

It was clear, from what I could see, that it was not a single person’s work that took down my runes, due to the skill and cleanliness of the work. Some, more complex runes, yet existed, and a few were obviously deconstructed with great skill. I took my time here, looking for signs of Solas and any of the people I knew he had already recruited. I found no definitive evidence. If there was one thing I knew about Solas, is that he is strict and precise, and I should not expect him to leave obvious clues to his presence. Not yet anyway.

The only signs of life came from similar sentinel type runes and wards placed seemly random among the Eluvians. It is clear that they are watching for people passing through the ancient roadways, but they were easy to spot, and easier yet to avoid. It is obvious that someone is coming here, but there is no way to say who it is, or what their true intent is, aside from watching. Still knowing this, I traversed the Eluvians with relative ease, popping out in a forest glen deep in the Emerald Graves, perhaps two days after entering at Skyhold.

The forest was cool; the sun was just barely peeking through the foliage. The trees were beginning to lose their vibrant colors, changing from emerald to gold and oranges, which, when the sun cast its first rosy fingers into the branches, almost appeared to be aflame. Autumn was breaking over Thedas, and I knew I would need to prepare for a long, cold stay alone in these abandoned ruins and forests.

The first week I stayed in the Emerald Graves, I cleared a large number of remaining minions of Corypheus, and anyone that attacked me. I came across several bands of Inquisition scouts, telling them the formal news of Corypheus’s defeat, and orders to retreat to safer grounds. Yes, it was a lie, but I felt certain that these scouts would be recalled soon anyway. They left with assurance that I would patrol the area regularly to keep the peace.

At the end of that week, I feel it. There is a ripple in the Fade, a shift in the very essence that created me. It doesn’t take much for me to realize that Mythal is finally gone; Solas has taken her soul, and the remnants of her power. It saddened me that I could not stop it, but I also was aware that she did not want me to.

The ruins of the bath house still haunted the grounds; the water was now cold, and covered in green mossy sludge. I hunted, gathered herbs and roots, gathered supplies for potions and food-stores, and assembled a comprehensive collection of winter survival supplies within the ruins of Solas’s old getaway. I managed to reassemble one of the smaller buildings with extensive magic expenditure, and had completely sealed the area in a large, nearly impenetrable barrier of magic. I made this my center of operations.

Winter had long since begun by the time I cleared the entrance to the underground magical library. As Solas had warned, there were many traps, still active within the ancient stones. The ruined hall collapsed twice before spring began to defrost the forest floor, setting back actual entrance to the underground compound, until the first warm day of spring.

When the door opened to the spiral staircase, a gust of cold, musty air, filled with rippling waves of Fade energy, greeted me. At first, I was near giddy with relief and pride from watching the many days of labor come to fruition. But within that burst of air, a single breath of familiar scent bombarded me.

It was his scent.

By that moment, I had already spent months dreaming each night, searching for my lost lover in the Fade. Sometimes, I found remnants of him; whispers from the spirits and demons of the fade, signs of his steady, familiar footsteps on the glittering raw Fade soil. I could feel his aura, lingering in memories being replayed by the spirits, and the brief, fleeting threads of his magic among the thoughts lost to time.

Having that scent, although brief, greet me in this place, brought me to my knees. The gust of wind was not particularly strong, nor was it forced by magic at me; it was the sudden, very real encounter with something as intimate as his scent, that made my legs go weak. In that moment, every memory I had made with Solas rushes into my thoughts with violent and debilitating force. Every contact, every touch, each word and every stolen glance, replayed in a moment. The months of subduing the thoughts and emotions that lingered in the recesses of my mind came suddenly into brilliant view.  Tears streaked down my face as I peered into the dark staircase.

“Solas…”

It was the first word I had spoken since my encounters with the Inquisition scouts months before. His name stung and choked me, like I was swallowing a pinecone after traversing a desert without drink.

I don’t know how long I sat there on my knees, staring into the staircase, my eyes red and burning with tears, and my heart throbbing against my ribcage. The chain about my neck grows warm, and tingles with magic, as the rings react to the lingering threads of Solas’s magic. It was well into the night by the time I found the strength to stand, and I lingered at the door, his name repeating like an echo in my mind, until I resealed it, and went back to eat and sleep.

I would find nothing if I was unable to focus.

~*~

_The ruins are rebuilt in the Fade, just as I had seen in the dream before. Veilfires burned, floating at even intervals along the decorative halls, ornately adorned in vibrant paintings and elaborate tapestries. The air was heavy with magic and the scent of incense. But, unlike the previous visions, this time, I heard nothing._

_No birds, no insects, no whispering voices, no trickling water from the hot spring…nothing._

_I walked with care, unsure of myself, with the strange sensation of walking in a vacuum threatening to set my nerves afire. I entered the patio, still lined in reclining chairs and plush cushions. I made my way to the bath house, steaming and glowing with magic. I wandered the halls and everywhere I went, I was met with silent, empty memory._

_To say it was eerie is an understatement…_

_Until I turned the corner to the hall leading to the underground library, my entire reason for returning to a place that held so many wonderfully painful memories._

_Solas._

_He stood there, facing me. A sad smile graced his gentle lips as he peered past his long hair to me, as I stood in abrupt shock. He looked as he had during the first meetings with him in the Fade, so many months ago. His nimble, lean frame was wearing ornate robes, indicative of his rank among the strongest Elvhen. His hair this time was down, slightly disheveled, as if he had run to this location but a moment before my arrival. His eyes…those eyes I had come to love so much, were glassy, and filled with so many strong emotions, and clouded with regret._

_“Solas…” My voice cracks in the silence. It sounds strange in the deafening silence. This visage of my lover smiled, and nodded slowly, as if this were really him, rather than a memory. I squinted my eyes, focusing on the details of his form, watching for any shift, any sway in the fabric of this being’s existence, to indicate that this was a spirit, rather than the man himself._

_He doesn’t say anything, and at first, he doesn’t move. His back is to the hidden doorway, his front lit only by a single floating Veilfire in the hallway between us. It takes some time, watching him, before my eyes widen in shock._

_This is no memory._

_“S-Solas…It…is it really you, vhenan?” I choke, taking an unsteady step forward. His smile waivers and he nods once again. I manage another step. “Where...are you?”_

_His answer is a solemn shake of his head, no. He spoke no words, and made no sounds. His eyes begged questions that I could hardly imagine. Forgiveness? Patience? News? I couldn’t even guess._

_Part of me was growing angry; the lack of his explanations, even just a word, was fanning a flame that threatened to grow to a wildfire. The rings about my neck, suddenly grew heavy, and sparked against my chest with magic. His eyes flickered to the spot against my chest where the rings lay beneath my tunic, before returning to mine, suddenly both saddened, and relieved. “Solas, I deserve answers.”_

_I had managed to make my way within arm’s length to Solas. Could this be a demon? Could this be a very clever spirit, toying with my own strong emotions? Or could this possibly be…_

_His hand stretched toward me, and a very solid feeling of his touch graced my cheek, as his thumb brushed away a tear. The scent of elfroot and old books lingers on his wrists as my face uncontrollably leans into his palm as it cradles my cheek. His soft, but slightly calloused fingers laced in the hair behind my ear, and I could no longer stop the tears from pouring from me._

_He looks down at me with such sadness._

_“I still love you, vhenan,” I whisper through the silent sobs._

_He smiles as if to say, “I know”, and drops his hand._

_“I know you do not want to do this, my heart. Give me something, anything…” I beg as he steps back, distancing himself from me. He turns then, facing the hidden door, and with a gesture, it opens wide, a light shining from the depths of the ancient place. Then, he offers his hand, as if asking for me to take it and be led._

_I look at him, my eyes blurred still from tears that were just drying. My mind screams in protest as my right hand rises. It could be a demon. It could be a memory, it could just be a dream, but you should not trust it!_

_As my fingers land in his palm, he grips my hand with gentle firmness, and with a flash of light, I am jolted awake._

I am standing before the doorway to the underground rooms when I wake up. My hand rested on the flat surface of the door. Solas’s scent danced around me as if he was just there a moment ago.

There is a soft crunch of dried leaves behind me, and a familiar presence materializes from the Fade behind me.

“A gift, gentle, warm, her face is just like before, I missed it so…”

I glance over my shoulder, and see Cole, kneeling in the leaves, picking up a stone by his feet. “Hello, my friend,” I say softly.

“Hello. They worry, friends, frantic when you left, no word, no note, they care, and you ran.” The spirit tells me, walking up to me, fidgeting with the smooth stone in his fingers. “They asked to find you, but I wouldn’t. I wanted to help.”

I turn to him and place a steady hand on his shoulder. “It is alright, Cole. You can tell them I am safe. I am researching.”

“That is not all. You are searching, something lost, lingering, longing just out of reach…but he won’t come. He said so. He does not want you to see.” Cole’s eyes focus on me. “But he will not stop you. He wants you to stop him.”

I smile, and turn back to the door. “You may stay, if you wish. Or, you may return to the others and tell them what I am doing, but do not let them come. This place may yet be too dangerous for others to wander.”

“I will stay. I will help. You need help, you need a person to talk to. I am not a person, but I will help.” Cole stands resolute, still fumbling with the stone in his hands.

“Spirits are better company.” I smile. I had not realized how lonely I was out here alone. Suddenly I felt much better having him here. The chill from the early spring night seemed less intense with a friend nearby.

I open the secret door. As it swings open, a faint light lingers below, barely illuminating the stairs before me.

The stairs were solid, dust covered, and strangely, slightly warm, just enough that I could feel the heat through my thinning leather boots. Small lights flared to light along the wall a few inches from the bottom of the wall, as I walked slowly, my hands running down the smooth walls as I descended the stairs. Cole was behind me, noiselessly following as a silent protector.

My mouth fell open in awe as I stepped into the large open space. Lights flared to life, lighting up the wall to wall bookshelves, the dusty work tables, still littered with tools and ancient supplies, and the piles of books still formed in towers around the room. “Wow…”

“But you have seen it before…why are you surprised?” Cole asked innocently, coming up beside me.

“It is very different seeing it in the Fade, compared to in person, Cole. This is…amazing,” I smile, walking up to the closest table and picking up a vial that still contained some blue shimmering fluid. “This is a whole new world for me to learn. There is so much knowledge, so much history here, and I intend on knowing all of it.”

Cole looks around the room, pausing occasionally to poke a book, or a pile of dust. I looked first for the journal that I remembered from my jaunt in the Fade. There were many bound journals through the room, all hand written by Solas through the years, and most of them were barely understandable. The words themselves made sense, but the content was far beyond my understanding of the Fade, magic, and the ways the world once operated on. It was very obvious right away that I would need to do some serious research before I could possibly understand the work Solas had done.

I spent the night, sleepless, and engrossed in books, poring over the ancient words in the tomes. Cole, my ever diligent friend, brought my belongings down to the shelter of the library work space, and had brought me food and drink. He spoke little, but would occasionally point to a book when I thought I was confused or lost with the concepts before me.

I don’t know how long I spent down there before Cole used his spirit abilities to make me sleep. The Fade eluded me, and I woke to the smell of warm food and tea from gathered herbs I had in the stores above ground.

“Cole…” I mutter as I sit up from my seat, where I had fallen asleep face first in a book on one of the work tables. Cole is sitting on the table, a bowl of some sort of stew and a mug of tea, with flowers floating on the top sitting between him and I. “Please don’t do that again. I can sleep when I am tired.”

His head tilts as he looks at me confused. “You were tired.”

I sigh, yawning and rubbing my eyes as he pushes the bowl toward me. “Alright, alright…”

The food was filling, albeit bland, and I was distracted by the book I had been studying before my sudden sleep the night before. There was a passage that had caught my eye, and made me frustrated with questions that I was unable to find any references to.

It seemed to me, that I was missing something important, that maybe Solas knew so well he didn’t need a document declaring it.

It had to do with the way the Veil works; more accurately, the confusing part was the construction of the Veil. The part I was having issues with, was the structure of the Veil itself, as the Veil is more akin to a woven piece of fabric, like a net, rather than a solid wall. But, even knowing this, I needed to know the precise way it was constructed, in order to even begin to understand how to break it.

From what I could understand, the Veil was a very precise, strong, and sturdy construction, and it would be very near impossible to just strong-arm through. Aside from that, simply tearing through the Veil would just cause another Breach, and ultimately would destroy this world as I knew it. I remember the very distant, hazy memory of the original story. The one original memory from so long ago that brought me here; it is little more than a thought now.

_When he tears the Veil down, saving his people, this world will burn._

Perhaps…just perhaps, the reason he says this is because he cannot work around the construction of the Veil? Perhaps the original purpose of the foci and the anchor was as a weapon to pierce through the veil, like a knife through paper. He understands that it will tear like Orlesean tights, starting as a small hole, and spreading fast and unpredictably. Perhaps he doesn’t know everything about this creation? Obviously he didn’t, he didn’t know he would cut off connection to the Fade when it was raised. How could I think he knew all there was to know about the Veil, even if he did create it?

The reason I couldn’t find this information was not because he knew it well, but because he didn’t know it at all. It is a disheartening thought.

My food is cold now, and the tea is over-brewed. Cole is gone when I look up, and I am alone in the library, my eyes hot and dry from focusing too long with my eyes open on the page.

She was right. Mythal was right. My fight is only just beginning. How can I possibly overcome this, when I know next to nothing?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a really hard time trying to address the time between the end of the original game and Trespasser. There will be at least one more chapter before Trespasser properly starts in this story. If this chapter seems too vague, I am sorry.  
> Thank you very much for continuing to read!~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone!


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